


a great desire to love

by lily_winterwood



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime), 君の名は。| Kimi no Na wa. | Your Name.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Character Swap, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst with a Happy Ending, Identity Swap, Kimi no Na wa AU, M/M, Soulmates, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-09 09:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8884927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lily_winterwood/pseuds/lily_winterwood
Summary: For some strange, inexplicable, fantastic reason, Yuuri Katsuki and Viktor Nikiforov are trading places. Kimi no Na wa AU.





	1. you fit my body like a glove

**Author's Note:**

> If you've watched _Kimi no Na wa_ , you know why I've decided to not use archive warnings. Yes, it's going to stick spiritually close to the original film, sorry. But I do intend a happy ending! I will also be adding tags as I go along, so that people aren't spoiled as I'm updating.
> 
> Let me know how I'm doing!

 “I meet you. I remember you. Who are you?” - Elle, _Hiroshima mon amour_

* * *

When Viktor Nikiforov wakes up, the first thing he feels is pain from falling off a suddenly too-narrow bed.

Picking himself up off the floor, he groans and dusts himself off — only to find that his vision seems blurrier than normal and that he’s wearing clothes.

That’s odd. He usually sleeps in just his briefs.

Viktor runs a hand through his hair, and blinks at how much shorter it is. He can’t even see what colour it is.

He looks around at his surroundings, trying to find a mirror. There’s another bed in the room, pushed up into a corner with a bright green bedspread. There are white bookshelves filled with textbooks, two desks with black jackets draped over the chairs, a bag at the foot of his own bed with a set of old scuffed-up figure skates peeking out of them, and a cage with three hamsters on the nightstand next to the other bed.

There’s a mirror next to a set of sliding closet doors, and Viktor goes over to look in it, stopping up short when he sees his reflection.

He’s in the body of a young Asian man.

* * *

“Yuuri! We’re going to be late for practice!”

Yuuri Katsuki jolts up in bed to see his roommate Phichit Chulanont watching him with his head tilted to the side. He scrambles for his glasses, and when he puts them on, Phichit’s concerned expression comes into focus.

“What?” Yuuri asks.

“You remembered your glasses this time,” Phichit remarks.

Yuuri frowns. “Why would I forget my glasses? I need them to see.”

“Yesterday you showed up to practice without them,” replies Phichit simply. Yuuri boggles at him. “And you were late, because you’d somehow forgotten how to get to the rink. But Ciao Ciao let it slide after you performed really well at practice! You even landed your quad sal!”

“ _What_?” repeats Yuuri, feeling more and more confused. How could he have… the last thing he remembers is going to bed, and then he had the strangest dream about going to Russia and skating just like his idol Viktor Nikiforov…

How could he have gone through an entire day without remembering anything that happened?

“What date is it?” Yuuri asks, as he reaches for his practice clothes with trembling hands.

“It’s April 20th,” says Phichit.

Yuuri’s arm stops. It had only been the 18th when he’d gone to bed.

“Yuuri?” asks Phichit, concern sneaking back into his voice. “If you’re not feeling well, I can tell Ciao Ciao to let you come in later, or give you the day off —”

“I’m fine!” Yuuri insists immediately, and goes to rub his eyes. He pauses again when he notices something written on his hand.

**_Hello Yuri!_ **

Yuuri stares at the words for a moment, and then sighs and gets dressed for practice.

It’s later, as he’s half-listening to Phichit’s excited chatter about possibly skating to music from the _King and the Skater_ for next season as they walk to the rink, when he goes to check his phone and finds some new pictures in his photo album.

“We went to Astro Coffee?” he asks, suddenly.

“Yeah,” says Phichit. “You took pictures of everything.”

Yuuri looks at the wide array of selfies in the album, and sighs. “Looks like it,” he remarks, and then opens up his notes.

There’s a new entry with yesterday’s date on there. Frowning, Yuuri opens it, and finds a detailed account of what happened yesterday, as well as a long-winded critique on his short programme’s choreography.

“Well, whoever was in charge of my body yesterday at least knew how to figure skate,” Yuuri comments drily as he puts his phone back into his pocket. Phichit laughs at that, and together they head to practice.

It’s not a very eventful one. Yuuri had initially worried about people thinking he might have backslid on whatever progress the other skater might have made for him yesterday, but people seem more happy to see him ‘back to normal’ to comment about his technique. He grabs a bite to eat with Phichit afterwards at a small café, and then resolves to go back to their room to work on homework.

It’s only when he’s at his desk when he notices one more thing the other skater has left for him. One of his notebooks is covered in notes he doesn’t remember writing. There are pages and pages of choreography ideas, tips for landing a quad Salchow, notes on the parts of his body that the other skater seems to think needs more flexibility. Yuuri chuckles a little at them, but he feels more gratified to have these pointers. It’s like having a secret coach who knows him even better than Celestino does.

He looks at his hand again. **_Hello Yuri_** , the message reads. Yuuri takes a marker from his pen holder and writes on his hand, below that message:

**_Who are you?_ **

And instead of doing homework, he looks up some videos of Viktor Nikiforov skating on YouTube, and sighs as he watches his idol glide effortlessly across the ice like some divine skating god.

What wouldn’t he give to spend a day in Viktor’s skates…

* * *

Yuuri wakes up to the feeling of wetness against his cheek.

Startled, he jolts up only to collide with a chocolate-coloured standard poodle in the process of licking his cheek. “Vicchan, stop!” he shrieks. The dog pauses to look at him, almost quizzically.

That’s when Yuuri remembers he didn’t bring Vicchan with him to Detroit. Besides, this dog is much bigger, much older than Vicchan. In fact, he looks more like…

 _Oh_. It must be that dream again.

“Makkachin, get off,” says Yuuri, and the poodle bounds off the too-big, too-white bed. Yuuri clambers out of it, finds the dressing gown, and stretches. He’s shirtless again, and when he looks in the mirror, Viktor Nikiforov’s face looks back at him.

As well as Viktor Nikiforov’s well-toned chest, and his rock-hard abs, and his cute butt, and — Yuuri jolts himself out of that train of thought before it gets any creepier.

Just because it’s a dream doesn’t mean he’s allowed to do obscene things with his idol’s body.

Yuuri hurriedly dresses himself and strides into the apartment kitchen. Viktor’s fridge is terribly sparse, stocked with only the barest of staples, a couple take-out boxes, and an unhealthy amount of vodka and champagne. The cupboards are equally sparse, with boxes of mostly protein and granola bars and what Yuuri hazards are low-calorie snacks printed in bright cyrillic-lettered packaging. The dog food is on a higher shelf in the pantry (which is also mostly stuffed with alcohol; Yuuri’s going to have to fix this somehow), so he fills Makkachin’s food bowl, changes out the water, and grabs a couple granola bars for himself before checking his — well, Viktor’s — phone.

He has several texts in Russian. Yuuri groans. This dream is too realistic. It really would have been nice to be able to understand Russian.

Google Translate gives him something approximating “where are you” and “you said you would be at the rink 5 minutes ago”, which causes Yuuri to panic. He types (in English; he’s not a masochist) a quick ‘I’m on my way’, grabs his coat and the bag on the sofa that contains a set of golden-bladed skates, and rushes out the door.

It is only when he is walking out of this too-fancy Saint Petersburg apartment building and nodding at the doorman when he realises he has no idea where the rink is.

Yuuri looks around, panicked. This street is relatively quiet, but there’s no way he could waylay a complete stranger and ask for directions to the skating rink. There could be more than one! And what if the person doesn’t speak English?

Another text. Yuuri runs it through Google Translate. “i am coming to get you”, it reads.

“Viktor!” someone shouts not even a minute later. Yuuri flinches. He turns, startled, to see a teenage boy standing on the sidewalk just a couple paces away, wearing a Team Russia jacket and a scowl.

Yuuri takes a step backwards. _What is Yuri Plisetsky doing in this dream_? He barely even knows the kid; all he knows is that he’s the favourite to win the Junior Grand Prix this year.

Yuri Plisetsky takes a step up and kicks him in the shin. Yuuri recoils, as Yuri gets up in his face and starts yelling at him in Russian.

“I’m sorry,” is all he can say in reply.

Yuri stares at him. “What is _wrong_ with you, old man?” he demands.

“I don’t know!” Yuuri squeaks. “This is a dream, right?”

Yuri’s eyes narrow. Then he shrugs. “Whatever,” he says. “But you’re coming with me to the rink. You said you had some choreography for my senior debut programs.”

“What?” demands Yuuri. _Senior debut programs_? The kid was really thinking ahead. “I… I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh don’t tell me you’ve forgotten _again_!” Yuri throws his hands up in the air. “Look, man, we had a _deal_!”

Yuuri laughs sheepishly. “Well, um. I’m sure Vik — I mean, I’ve — written it down somewhere!” And he digs out Viktor’s phone and unlocks it. Viktor had left a note for him on his own programme; surely he’ll have some for this Yuri’s program somewhere on here as well…

Oh. Right. It _would_ be in Russian.

“Um. Take this? I’m sure it’s in here…” says Yuuri, handing the phone to Yuri. The teenager takes it, sending a strange look towards Yuuri, and begins to scroll through the notes.

“What’s with you?” he asks. “Suddenly forgotten how to do _anything_ in Russian? Must be your age catching up with you.”

“I’ve… been under a lot of stress,” lies Yuuri, though he’s not surprised when Yuri sends him a disbelieving look in response. He wouldn't have bought that either. Viktor Nikiforov would never be under so much stress that he’d forget how to understand _Russian_.

“You were weird a couple days ago, too,” Yuri remarks idly, starting to head up the street. Yuuri follows him closely. “Flubbing your jumps all over the place. Yakov suggested you try your quad flip again and you said you couldn’t land one. As if Viktor Nikiforov couldn’t land his fucking _signature move_.”

Yuuri remembered that from the last dream. Huh. These dreams really had a good grasp of narrative continuity.

“I said it was the bad clams, yeah?” he asks.

“Did you have bad clams again?” asks Yuri, handing the phone back to him.

Yuuri takes it. “Yeah, let’s say that,” he mutters. Because the truth would be too strange.

If practice back in Detroit had been uneventful, practice in Saint Petersburg is abysmal. Yuuri feels almost embarrassed to be making such a fool of himself in Viktor’s body, because then it looks like Viktor himself has suddenly developed the grace of a dying giraffe.

He has to be grateful for Yuri Plisetsky, though (and honestly, how many times in his life is he ever going to think that?) because the blond had been quick to tell everyone that he isn’t feeling well — more bad clams — and not to bother him if he fucks up on the ice. Which means that the oh-so-intimidating coach Yakov Feltsman isn’t paying (too much) attention to his (too many) falls and trips.

Yuri Plisetsky, on the other hand, seems to have gotten whatever choreography notes Viktor had left him on his phone, and is testing some of the moves out. He’s doing quads. And he’s landing quad Salchows better than Yuuri ever could.

After practice, Yuuri heads back to the apartment. He stops at a grocery store on the way and buys some more food for Viktor’s fridge: mostly fruits and vegetables, but also the closest ingredients he can manage for a decent, if slightly inauthentic katsudon. After dropping the food off in the kitchen, he then takes Makkachin out to the nearby park. The air is warm with a tentative springtime sweetness, and Yuuri savours it as he watches Makkachin sniff at the bushes and the trees.

He cooks two servings of katsudon that night, eating one and putting the other in the fridge for Viktor alongside a note with the recipe. He doodles pictures of flowers and little poodles on skates and leaves them all over the apartment. He sprawls out on the sofa with Makkachin and takes selfies.

And then he opens the notes app and writes up the events of the day, followed by comments about the beauty of the city and how soft Makkachin’s fur is, and all of the places that he wants to visit the next time he’s here.

He may not be able to leave feedback on Viktor’s skating, but at least he can enjoy Viktor’s world.

* * *

Viktor isn’t sure why there’s a doodle of a dog in figure skates on his bathroom mirror.

He’s also not sure why there’s more fruits and vegetables in the fridge (he could never figure out what to do with them in a way that resulted in something edible), or why there’s a bowl of some sort of breaded meat on rice with egg in the fridge with a recipe stuck to it in English.

(He heats it up for breakfast anyway. It is quite possibly the best thing he’s ever eaten.)

Yuri looks at him strangely when he shows up at the rink. “No bad clams today, old man?” he asks.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Viktor replies.

“So we’re back to normal, then,” says Yuri. “You couldn’t even land a quad sal yesterday, much less teach me your own choreography.”

“I showed you the choreography?” echoes Viktor. “I’m still refining portions of it!”

“Well, I wouldn’t really say you showed me _anything_ yesterday, since you were so out of it you couldn’t even read Russian.” Yuri rolls his eyes. “Let’s just get going, okay? I’m not getting any younger here.”

Viktor sighs, and pushes off from the boards.

* * *

“Yuuri, come on. I know you can land the quad sal,” says Celestino. Yuuri leans against the boards, panting heavily. He takes a long draught from his water bottle, and sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Just get out there and try again.”

Yuuri wipes the sweat from his brow and heads back to centre ice. His next couple of attempts at a quad Salchow go miserably wrong, even when he keeps the advice of his mystery coach in mind.

It’s later, when he’s bandaging up the blisters on his feet, when he notices a new message on his thigh.

**_Check your desk ;)_ **

Despite the pain in his feet protesting his every step, Yuuri practically hightails it back to his dorm. Skidding to a stop at his desk, Yuuri begins going through everything on it — his notebooks, his drawers, his pen holder.

And then he sees it. There’s a framed photograph of Viktor Nikiforov on his desk, the only part of his sizeable collection of Viktor memorabilia that he brought with him to Detroit. But now there’s a signature on it.

Viktor Nikiforov has signed his photograph.

* * *

Viktor is going through his notes looking for the post he made about his own programmes when he notices the entry in English. _Another Day in the Life of Viktor Nikiforov_ , it reads. Frowning, Viktor opens it.

It is a long-winded account of what must have been yesterday, followed by excited comments on the beauty of the city and Makkachin’s fur. Viktor catches himself smiling a little as he reads those portions.

He goes through his apartment now, finding all of the little doodles that have been left for him so he can move them to the fridge instead.

He then writes, **_Yuri Katsuki, is that you?_** on his arm shortly before bed.

The next time he wakes up, his answer is on his hand. **_Yes._**

* * *

_It’s not a dream_ , Yuuri realises as he stares, disbelievingly, at the notes on his programme that he definitely doesn’t remember writing. _Those days I spend as Viktor Nikiforov are real._

 _It’s not a dream_ , Viktor realises as he stares, dumbfounded, at his suddenly well-stocked fridge and a plethora of notes on various Japanese dishes taped to his cupboards. _Those days I spend as Yuuri Katsuki are real_.

For some strange, inexplicable, _fantastic_ reason, Yuuri Katsuki and Viktor Nikiforov are trading places.


	2. you're good for me (you're destroying me)

It takes them a couple switches to get the system set up. Viktor is the one who leaves the notes on skating technique, the one who offers feedback for Yuuri’s own programme as well as sharing his own programme details, so that Yuuri isn’t completely lost whenever he’s in Viktor’s body.

It’s still spring. Figure skating season doesn’t begin in earnest until the fall. They still have time to master each other’s programmes and figure out what to do about their switching situation. Yuuri has made several notes on that in one of Viktor’s moleskines. **_It might be triggered by sleep_** , he says, **_but I’m not entirely sure_**.

Besides needing to know two sets of programmes (and trusting that neither of them will use the knowledge to change their own for more points in competition), the two also continuously leave reports for each other on what they did while they were switched, as well as reminders about what to do and what not to do.

**_Can you not skate my programmes better than I can? It makes Celestino question why my progress is so inconsistent._ **

**_You clearly have it in you to land these jumps. Why can’t you?_ **

**_I lack confidence!_ **

**_Then maybe I should help you get some!_ **

**_Not by skating better than me on my own programmes!_ **

After a while things seem to fall into a steady rhythm. They wake up, they go to practice, they get food and spend time with friends. Yuuri leaves a copy of his class schedule on his phone, so that Viktor is obliged to show up to his classes as well on switch days. Though he’s not sure if it’s helpful at all — all he really gets after weekday switches are fuzzy impressions of what might have been talked about in class, as well as doodles of boredom on both of his arms. Phichit, who takes many of the same classes as him, does his best to fill him in, but Yuuri knows that his friend spends most classes checking Touchbook instead of paying attention, so there really is little point in relying on him to explain what happened in class on switch days.

Besides, Phichit doesn’t even know the truth of what happens to _him_ on those days. He and Viktor have made an implicit promise to keep this strange phenomenon to themselves.

**_Phichit has mentioned that sometimes you grab my butt when you’re looking in the mirror. Could you please not do that?_ **

**_How do I know you’re not doing the same to my butt, Yuri?_ **

**_Because I actually have a sense of dignity?_ **

**_Your dignity would be much more believable if you’d actually take time to learn how to land the 4S._ **

It’s an intricate dance between the two, like they’re stepping together to a song without knowing the tune. Sometimes it still strikes them how unbelievable their situation is, but what can they do? The reactions of everyone around them clearly confirm that they are, indeed, trading places.

And despite the notes and precautions, they both begin to get bolder in their actions as each other.

**_Got coffee with a cute girl from the conservatory! She says she’s willing to work on a piece for your free skate programme._ **

**_Viktor! Stop interfering with my love life!_ **

**_I’m just trying to make you a little more popular here!_ **

**_Like you’re one to talk. I haven’t had any calls or visits from anyone who might even remotely pass as a lover on your end!_ **

The next time Viktor wakes up as himself, he checks his phone for Yuuri’s report, and nearly throws it at the nearest wall.

**_Yuri, why are there flirty texts from Christophe on my phone?_ **

**_He was in town, so I asked him to dinner. You do like Christophe, right? You have lots of selfies with him._ **

**_And here I thought you were completely inexperienced._ **

The next Yuuri wakes up as himself, he finds the word ‘idiot’ in Russian written across his forehead and a note from Viktor on his phone.

**_Maybe I just like having Makkachin be the only handsome boy in my life!_ **

The next time Viktor wakes up as himself, he finds the word ‘idiot’ in Japanese written on his cheek and a sticky note from Yuuri on his bathroom mirror.

**_Then maybe consider that I just like being by myself, too!_ **

* * *

Viktor has gotten used to the days when he wakes up as Yuuri.

It’s always pretty easy to figure it out even before he opens his eyes, because his alarm when he wakes up as Yuuri is Yuuri’s phone alarm, not a hungry Makkachin licking his face. So this time he just switches off the alarm on the mattress next to him, dons Yuuri’s glasses, and sits up.

Huh. The room has changed this time. He’s in a hotel room. At the foot of the bed, a suitcase sits, overflowing with clothes. Yuuri’s skates are lying next to it.

Viktor turns on the television. A Japanese news broadcast is playing. He lets it play as he opens the closet to find Yuuri’s skate costumes and possibly the ugliest suit he has ever seen hung up inside it.

(Viktor ponders, briefly, whether or not buying Yuuri a new suit would violate the ‘don’t spend too much money’ warning that Yuuri had left him.)

There’s a note on the bathroom mirror when he goes to get ready. It says:

**_In case we switch, Viktor, today is the NHK Trophy Free Skate. Wear the blue costume and have the suit on hand for the banquet after._ **

Viktor groans. No amount of preparation, no amount of warnings and notes and weird possibly too-personal coaching advice could ever prepare them for switching on the day of a competition. They’d told each other their assignments for the Grand Prix this year, and Viktor had felt a strange mixture of happiness and disappointment that they weren’t in any of the same events.

It would have been nice to meet, face-to-face as himself, the man who has been stocking his fridge and feeding his dog, the man who’s somehow managed to get him closer to his fellow skaters — the man who’s been showing him, though he’s never really present while it happens, that there’s more to life than just skating and medals.

Medals. _Shit_. Viktor slams a hand to his face when he remembers that last night had been the night before the Cup of China Free Skate as well. Odd, that these two competitions would be occurring almost simultaneously. The ISU _really_ needs to get its shit together.

At least he’d left a reminder in his phone for Yuuri, just in case. The only thing left to worry about is whether or not Yuuri can pull off Viktor’s free skate in competition. He’d read reports of rehearsals ranging from a couple bumps to absolute disasters, so one time he’d asked Yuri Plisetsky to record his skating on his next ‘bad clam’ day (as the younger Yuri had insisted on calling it).

The resulting videos had assuaged most of Viktor’s fears. Yuuri Katsuki could pull off most, if not all, of the elements of Viktor’s programmes. Hell, the way he does step sequences could be even better than how _Viktor_ does them. But it was also too easy for the Japanese skater to get eaten up by nerves and then mess up. He’d made a comment about that for him the next time they switched.

Hopefully Yuuri remembers those notes during the competition tonight.

Viktor splashes water onto his face and runs a hand through his hair. Straightening up, he then does a couple of stretches, cataloguing the bruises on Yuuri’s body that hadn’t been there the last time they switched. Finally he turns, so that he could look at Yuuri’s brief-clad ass in the mirror.

 _Maybe not, for his sake_ , Viktor thinks.

He grabs Yuuri’s ass anyway. Not his fault the Japanese skater has thighs that could crush mountains.

Viktor arrives at the rink barely on time for warm-ups. He takes a couple laps around the ice to warm up, and practices his quad Salchow. For the sake of pretending to be Yuuri, he throws in a little uncertainty.

People always complain about how hard it is to preserve their _own_ on-ice persona. Viktor can’t help but laugh a little at that. Try having to pretend to be _someone else’s_ on-ice persona.

“You’re looking like you’re in good form today, Yuuri!” Celestino tells him when he comes off the ice. “Don’t let the nerves get you, and you’ll be as good as gold.”

Viktor laughs. “I’ll try my best,” he says.

“That’s the spirit!” Celestino claps him on the shoulder, causing his glasses to bounce a bit.

“Just a quick question, coach,” says Viktor. Celestino raises an eyebrow at him, as if to encourage him to continue. “What’s the order?”

“You’re going fourth, of course, since you placed third with your short programme.”

“Ah.” _Not bad, Yuuri_. “Can I see the scores?”

Celestino pulls up the results from the short programme on his phone, and Viktor scrutinises them. It looks like he’s going to have to beat Christophe Giacometti and Cao Bin. Yuuri has at least ten points over the skater currently in last. He’s not too worried.

They go to the back where the other skaters are stretching and chatting as the Zamboni comes out to resurface the ice for the competition. Christophe sends him a grin and a wave, and briefly Viktor wonders if Christophe can see through him. He waves back, careful to put an edge of shyness in it.

Yuuri had mentioned that he didn’t really know most of the skaters he was competing against, but based on how some of the other skaters also flash him friendly smiles, Viktor suspects that Yuuri is downplaying his relations with the rest of the community.

The competition begins. Viktor watches, with Christophe and Leo de la Iglesia next to him, as Emil Nekola takes to the ice. He frowns a little when he notices what the Czech skater is wearing.

_Wasn’t that what he wore to Worlds last Spring?_

Viktor shakes it off. It might just be a strange coincidence. He didn’t watch Emil that closely during Worlds, anyway, and sometimes figure skaters recycle costumes.

And music. And routines.

Viktor’s frown deepens with each successive skater’s performance. Leo de la Iglesia and Eric Zimmermann didn’t make it to the GPF or Worlds last year, but Viktor suspects that their programmes might be repeats as well.

No wonder Yuuri’s costume also looks strangely familiar…

Viktor jolts himself out of his thoughts as the announcers call Yuuri’s name. He hands his skate guards to Celestino, takes a sip of water, and heads out to centre ice.

Now is not the time to ponder over what could just be a bad case of déjà-vu. He has a free programme to skate.

He skates Yuuri’s programme beautifully, not one jump even slightly fumbled. It’s a difficult programme, though it’s definitely not maximising Yuuri’s potential as a skater at all. Viktor is all too aware of the strengths and limitations of Yuuri’s body. He knows the man can do better.

He’ll have to make a note of it when he gets off the ice.

Finally, the programme comes to an end. Viktor lowers his arms and heads off to the kiss and cry to await Yuuri’s scores. He checks his phone the moment it’s in his hands, briefly considering tossing off a text to his own number to see how Yuuri is doing as him at the Cup of China. But he decides against it.

The score comes out. He’s in first place. Celestino hugs him, and Viktor hugs back almost automatically, his mind still thousands of miles away in Beijing.

 _What on earth is going on_?

By the time Christophe (and Viktor _knows_ that he’s doing the same routine that he did last year; he’s seen him perform it in Sochi _and_ at Worlds) gets his points, though, it’s become clear — Yuuri Katsuki has gotten gold at the NHK Trophy and subsequently qualified for the Grand Prix Final. Viktor can’t help but feel a little pang of guilt at that. It almost feels like he’s cheating on Yuuri’s behalf by skating in his body. To reassure himself, he looks up the Cup of China results.

Nothing. The results haven’t been posted yet. Viktor swallows. Maybe it’s a time zone difference. They’ll have the results up after the banquet.

He accepts the gold medal and the flowers, and then rushes back to the hotel to change into the hideous suit for the banquet.

Viktor isn’t sure when he first started hating ISU banquets. Maybe it had been sometime around his third consecutive Worlds victory, when the bigwigs wouldn’t stop simpering over his ‘need to constantly surprise the crowd’ and his ‘exquisite attention to technical detail’ and other unnecessarily florid phrases about his skating. He’d spent most of these evenings nursing several glasses of champagne and counting down the minutes until it would be socially acceptable to leave.

Tonight, though, as Yuuri Katsuki, he could smile at the well-wishers, accept their slightly baffled-sounding congratulations, and duck over to the corner where Christophe is talking to Sara Crispino and Mila Babicheva.

“Yuuri!” exclaims Christophe when he approaches. “What a stunning upset! Congratulations on qualifying for the Final!”

Viktor remembers reading Yuuri’s excited note about taking silver in Skate America. He smiles and nods. “I’m excited about going to…” he trails off, daring one of the other skaters to answer.

“Sochi?” Mila fills in.

Viktor feels his stomach drop. The GPF this year is supposed to be in Barcelona.

“Chris,” he says suddenly, a terrible thought forming in his mind. “Would you like my number?”

“Ooh, Yuuri. Suddenly so _assertive_.” Christophe’s congratulatory smile morphs into a smirk. “Of course you can.”

He hands over his mobile. Viktor takes it, turning away with the pretext of wanting some privacy, and opens Chris’s texts. He scrolls until he sees his own name, and then opens it.

The most recent message is the one where Chris had congratulated his win in Skate Canada. None of the more recent, more flirtatious texts are anywhere to be found.

Viktor feels as if his world has been pulled out from under his feet. The room tilts and darkens in front of him; he’s only dimly aware of someone catching him, of Christophe’s worried “Are you alright?” in his ear, before everything goes black.

* * *

Viktor wakes up again in his hotel room in Beijing.

This time his head is pounding furiously, as if someone is taking a sledgehammer to it repeatedly. The light filtering in through the windows is too bright. Ugh. A hangover.

What did Yuuri _do_?

Viktor gropes for his phone, only to realise that someone is lying in bed next to him. He startles, bolts up in bed, and looks down to see Christophe Giacometti asleep next to him, disturbingly unclothed.

“Yuuri, you did _not_ ,” Viktor breathes, slightly horrified.

Christophe turns over, still asleep. Viktor frowns. Christophe had been with him — well, Yuuri — at the NHK Trophy last night. But then last night had been nothing but a repeat of last year. So then…

Viktor searches up the dates. Sure enough, the dates of the NHK Trophy last year match up to the dates for the Cup of China this year. This year’s NHK Trophy is yet to come.

He looks up the results for the Cup of China anyway, and feels relief wash over him. Yuuri had gotten him silver. Probably an upset, considering that Phichit Chulanont got gold, but Viktor can make up for it in Moscow anyway.

Phichit. Viktor smiles a little at the name of Yuuri’s friend. Of all the people who could have beaten him, Phichit Chulanont would have deserved it. He remembers seeing how hard the young Thai skater worked in Detroit, how much joy he got from each spin and jump. Good for him.

There’s a rustling as Christophe wakes, stretching and yawning and rubbing his eyes. Viktor stifles a yawn in response and just sits there as Christophe clambers into a sitting position, a slow smile creeping over the Swiss man’s face when he sees him.

“Good morning,” says Christophe.

Viktor purses his lips. It’s not that he _doesn’t_ like Christophe. He’d just been too focused on skating for most of his life to let himself establish anything more than some post-competition fumbles in dimly-lit hotel rooms with other skaters. It is entirely Yuuri’s fault that he’d somehow gotten himself into a weird friends with benefits arrangement with Christophe. “What happened last night?” he asks, though he suspects he already knows. Clearly copious amounts of alcohol had been involved.

“You must have drunk more than we’d realised,” says Christophe, frowning.

“Apparently,” agrees Viktor.

Christophe groans, putting his head in his hands. “If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have let — I was pretty sloshed myself, though —”

“Chris. I forgive whatever our drunken selves did,” says Viktor. _And whatever Yuuri did as my drunken self_ , he adds, silently. “Just tell me whatever you can remember.”

Christophe chuckles. “Really, Viktor? You’re absolutely _sure_ you can’t remember stripping down to your briefs and pole dancing?”

If Viktor had been drinking anything when he heard that, he would have spewed it all out. “ _Pole dancing_?” he echoes.

“Yeah. How come you didn’t tell me you were picking it up, too? I would’ve gotten you the number of my instructor. Guess Yuuri Katsuki’s performance at the GPF banquet last year really affected you, huh?”

 _Yuuri Katsuki_. Viktor opens his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he finds Yuuri’s name. He presses call.

* * *

Yuuri’s ringtone cuts through the silence in the rink as he launches into a flying sit spin.

Yuuko Nishigori waves it at him. “Yuuri, don’t you want to take this?” she asks.

Yuuri pauses in his routine and skates over to where she stands at the boards, his brows furrowed. “Who’s calling?” he asks.

“It’s Minako-sensei,” she says.

Yuuri sighs. “She’s getting into her cups back at Yu-Topia. I’m sure it can wait,” he replies as he heads back out to centre ice.

Yuuko nods. “Okay, if you say so. Sorry I interrupted.”

Yuuri laughs, sheepishly. “That’s fine. Where were we?”

Yuuko opens her mouth to respond, but at that very moment Yuuri slips on the ice as the ground below their feet begins to shake.

* * *

_The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected or no longer exists_.

Viktor hangs up and tries calling again, to no success. Christophe frowns at him, concern etched all over his face.

“Are you alright?” he asks. Viktor exhales, setting the phone down.

“Have you, uh, heard from Yuuri Katsuki lately?” he asks.

A shadow seems to pass over Christophe’s expression at that. Viktor blinks, feeling his stomach drop. There’s no way that expression means anything good.

Chris’s voice is too gentle when he speaks up again. “Viktor. Don’t you remember the earthquake in Japan that happened during the World Championships last spring?”

Viktor’s stomach seems to be roughly around his knees right now. “It was just a little tremor. We weren’t anywhere near the worst of it,” he points out.

“It was all over the news, Viktor,” Christophe says. “The earthquake hit Kyushu. It was pretty bad, but the tsunami that followed it was even worse. A lot of people died, especially in the coastal cities.”

“And Yuuri —”

“Was one of the people who died. It was all over the figure skating world, Viktor, how could you _not_ know?”

“I…” Viktor blinks. “I thought he was in Detroit,” he points out lamely. It’s not far from the truth; he’d been switching with Yuuri while Yuuri had been in Detroit.

“He moved back home after his season ended early,” Christophe says.

Viktor’s heart is racing. This can’t be. If Yuuri’s been dead this entire time, then who —

His fingers are trembling as he opens his phone and scrolls through the notes and reports. At first they appear completely normal, but then as Viktor keeps reading the letters begin to corrupt and fade.

And before Viktor can save any of it, an entire six months’ worth of entries from Yuuri on his phone has vanished before his very eyes.

“No,” whispers Viktor. He feels the wetness in his eyes dropping onto the screen of his phone, feels the lump in his throat suddenly so hard to swallow down. Christophe reaches for him, and Viktor turns to bury his face in the crook of the other man’s shoulder, letting the sobs take over his body.

Yuuri Katsuki, this wonderful man who had shown him what it felt like to _live_ , is dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I am sorry about the sudden bucket of angst, especially if you've never seen the film this is inspired by. 
> 
> Don't worry though. Yuuri isn't totally dead. You'll see... in like, two more chapters...


	3. the obvious necessity of remembering

November turns into December. In Saint Petersburg, the canals freeze over and the snow piles high on their banks.

It has been four weeks (not that Viktor is keeping track at all, of course) since his last swap with Yuuri. In the meantime, he’d taken gold at the Rostelecom Cup and spends the rest of his days at the rink, practicing. His phone remains stubbornly empty of comments, his apartment stubbornly devoid of sticky note doodles of poodles on skates, his arms stubbornly clean of comments and questions in marker.

The piano music for his free skate begins to play again, and Viktor extends his hands towards the sky in a plea he feels more than ever. He had commissioned this piece specifically to tell a story of an unconventional love triumphing against all odds, intending to skate about the strange intersections of his life with that of Yuuri Katsuki’s. He had hoped for both of them to make it to the Grand Prix Final so that he could skate it for Yuuri in person, and tell him that the programme was dedicated to him afterwards. And from there? He hadn’t been sure. But Christophe’s reminder had brought all of that crumbling down around his ears.

Viktor lands the quad flip effortlessly, and thinks back to the night of the World Championship Free Skate. He’d been confronted that night, after his fifth consecutive victory, with questions about what he was going to do in the coming year. He hadn’t given an answer then, because he honestly had no idea what he was going to do. He’d lost his spark. But it was pointless to take time off, especially not if he wanted to come back the year after. The world of competitive figure skating was like a tidal wave; he could either be swept up in it until it drowns him, or he could get out and watch it move on from him with alarming quickness.

The press conference that night had been interrupted by announcements about an unexpected 7.6 magnitude earthquake off the coast of Hasetsu in the Kyushu region of Japan. They had even felt, as far away as they were in Tokyo, the faintest of trembling from the aftershocks.

The day after, Viktor had watched in muted horror the news of the aftermath in his hotel room. He’d then dropped some words of condolence to the press in a brief conference, donated his prize money to the disaster relief funds, and flown back to Saint Petersburg as soon as the airports reopened. He had kept away from the news since then, as he was starting to work on the next season’s programmes and didn’t need the distraction. He hadn’t heard anything about Yuuri Katsuki’s death, and for some reason no one ever seemed to have bothered him about it. Maybe they thought he needed time to mourn.

And that was when the switching began to happen, so how could he have known he had been trading places with a ghost the entire time? He’d spent twenty years of his life neglecting life and love, so it’s just his luck that the first time he’s ever really let someone crack the ice of his exterior, the universe had to snatch them away just as soon as he starts falling in earnest.

Viktor lets the music wash over him, launching into his step sequence. It’s not quite like how it looks in the video Yuri had taken of him (well, Yuuri as him) during that one ‘bad clam’ day back in September, but it’s close, and Viktor isn’t sure how many more times he’d be able to watch that video without suffering some kind of breakdown.

Yuuri might have been dead since April, but some part of Viktor refuses to move on.

Triple Axel. Triple flip. Viktor feels a strange tugging urge in his gut, and for a brief moment he pretends like it’s a part of Yuuri’s soul, trying to tell him what he should do next. He launches into a triple Axel, single loop, triple Salchow combination as the music begins to mount towards a dizzying climax of piano and violin. Usually around this time he would be feeling the fatigue sinking into his bones, but somehow today is different. Today he hits a triple Lutz, triple toe loop combination without hesitation, and then finally —

The quad Salchow comes out effortlessly as the music hits its last joyful peak.

Viktor finishes his routine with a combination spin, and as the music fades, he reaches towards the side of the rink and closes his eyes. For a brief moment, Yuuri is standing there at the boards, his brown eyes shining, his face flushed with rapturous joy.

When he opens his eyes, the spot where Yuuri had been is empty. Viktor lets his hand fall, skates back to where his music player is, and turns off the music.

He picks up some take-out on the way back to his apartment. He hasn’t been in the mood to attempt cooking lately, especially not since the recipes that Yuuri had painstakingly wrote out for him have all disappeared. The only thing that suggests that they had ever been there in the first place are the blank sheets of paper taped to the cabinets, along with the groceries he definitely didn’t buy himself sitting in his fridge. Yuuri had changed so much of his surroundings, and yet now that he’s gone, it almost seemed as if he had never been there in the first place. It would have been easier to say he’d completely forgotten buying food, or taping paper to his cabinets, or taking dozens of pictures of Saint Petersburg and Makkachin, but Viktor had never been the sort of man who sought the easy answer.

Makkachin whines when Viktor enters his apartment, so he sets down the take-out boxes and takes the old poodle out. The cold nips at his nose as they walk through the park. Winter muffles even the slightest of noises; here, all that breaks the deathly silence is the distant rumbling of trams.

Viktor tightens the scarf around his neck and looks up. Though the night sky in St Petersburg doesn’t have that many stars, there are still some visible even through the pollution, just little tenacious pinpricks of light in black velvet. As he gazes at them, Viktor is reminded of his babushka’s stories about how each star is a person, and how when a person dies, their star falls from the sky.

The realisation hits him suddenly. Or maybe it’s been there all along, and he hadn’t really thought of it until now. Viktor takes out his phone, and begins looking up airline tickets to Japan.

He has to find and restore Yuuri’s star to its rightful constellation.

* * *

But first, he wins the Grand Prix Final. It’s a very close call, though — Yuri Plisetsky’s short programme, which Viktor himself had choreographed, breaks his world record for the highest short programme score. Viktor doesn’t begrudge him this victory; the teen had been pushing himself entirely too hard this season, hungry for the chance to prove himself.

Christophe sidles up to him at the banquet afterwards with a glass of champagne and a morose expression. “It’s just not the same,” he says.

Viktor has a feeling he knows what Christophe is talking about. “Without Yuuri?” he asks, to confirm, and Christophe nods.

“Who would’ve known he could be the life of the party?” The Swiss skater laughs, sipping his own champagne. “We gotta pour one out for him after all this,” he adds, gesturing to the banquet in front of him.

“Why do it after the banquet?” wonders Viktor, remembering the press of Yuuri’s body against his, the sparkle in his brown eyes. How could he have forgotten, in the months between the GPF and Worlds, the man who had made him feel so alive for one night? Now it’s too late; he’ll never —

“You’ve got a point,” Christophe declares, and grabs a fork from the nearest table. He begins tapping his glass with it, causing the room to go silent and all eyes to turn towards them. Viktor isn’t sure if it’s the champagne or the bit of Yuuri that may or may not still be in him, but he can feel his own cheeks heating up.

“ _Chris_ ,” he hisses, but Christophe is already raising his glass.

“I would like to propose a toast to Yuuri Katsuki,” the Swiss man declares. “This banquet last year was transformed from a dull and frankly rather elitist affair into a _real_ party when he decided to drink three —”

“Four!” Sara Crispino cuts in, and then claps a hand to her mouth when her brother Michele glares at her.

“Four bottles of champagne!” amends Christophe. “And started challenging all of us to dance-offs to ‘regain his honour’ after placing sixth in the senior men’s division. I’m sure we all know that if he’d been with us today, we’d all be eagerly awaiting an encore.”

Viktor feels that now too-familiar lump in his throat that he cannot seem to swallow.

“The figure skating world lost one of its own last April,” says Christophe, and Viktor dimly wonders if he’d ever seen the Swiss man this sombre before. “To absent friends.”

“To absent friends,” the room echoes, and Viktor mumbles in agreement, downing the contents of his flute in one go. The alcohol burns at the back of his throat; as soon as the warmth fades, Viktor is looking for his next glass.

* * *

“Wake up, old man!”

Viktor yelps and claps his hands to his ears. Of all the unwanted wake-up calls in the world for the morning after a long night of champagne and commiserating, Yuri Plisetsky’s yelling ranks just about as high as a bomb exploding.

“ _Fuck_ , Yuri, a little louder and maybe the entire hotel will hear you,” he grumbles.

Yuri Plisetsky clearly doesn’t care about that. “What the _fuck_ was that last night?” he demands.

“What?” echoes Viktor, sitting up in the hotel bed and rubbing his temples. He casts a bleary eye towards the teenager, who is standing at the foot of his bed in a black leather jacket and possibly the grandmother of all sickened expressions on his face. What on earth did he do to warrant _that_ look…

 _Oh_.

“I get that you’re still obsessed with the piggy’s death, but you didn’t need to try and make a repeat performance of my humiliation,” snips Yuri, crossing his arms.

Viktor squints. “Are you wearing Otabek Altin’s jacket?” he asks.

Yuri’s entire face flushes bright red. “ _Don’t derail this_!” he shrieks. “How could I have lost to _you_? You’ve never even break danced before in your life!”

A strange warmth begins in the base of Viktor’s chest. “I… break danced?” he echoes.

“Oh, _god_.” Yuri throws his hands up. “Bad clams again?”

The warmth spreads through Viktor’s body, makes his heart pound a little faster with a feeling he doesn’t dare to name.

“Yeah, maybe,” he says, and he’s pretty sure his eyes are sparkling. He pulls out his phone.

“What are you doing?” demands Yuri.

Viktor had planned to visit Japan and pay his respects to Yuuri on the anniversary of the disaster. He had given himself these months between the GPF and Worlds to figure out if there was any way to connect with the man one last time. But as this bright and burning feeling continues to course through him, Viktor changes his itinerary to fly out to Fukuoka this afternoon.

“I’m going to Hasetsu,” he says when he sets down his phone.

Yuri stares at him. “You’ve lost it,” he deadpans.

“No,” says Viktor. “I’m finding it.”

* * *

Viktor is at the airport in Barcelona when he hears his name being called. He turns, to see Christophe and Yuri heading towards him with their suitcases.

“I thought I said I didn’t need you tagging along,” Viktor says when Yuri pulls up to the first class check-in counter and hands his passport to the lady on the other side.

“Like I’m going to let you wander around the ass-end of Japan alone,” snaps Yuri. “You could get robbed by ninjas.”

“I don’t think that’s likely,” Christophe points out as he hands over his passport as well.

“You shut your mouth,” growls Yuri as they get their boarding passes. “We’re coming along, Viktor, whether you want us to or not.”

Viktor sighs. He had explicitly told Yuri that this was something he had to do alone. After all, the only people in the world who knew about the switching were him and Yuuri Katsuki. But if the other Yuri and Christophe are so insistent on accompanying him, then he has no choice but to let them tag along.

“Fine,” he says. “But you’re not allowed to laugh at anything I do on this trip.”

“Whatever,” scoffs Yuri, and starts to wheel his suitcase away. “Come on, we’ll miss our flight.”

Viktor lets a smile slip onto his face as he follows suit. If he’s being completely honest with himself, he’s actually quite glad that Yuri is insisting he not do this alone.

* * *

Nineteen hours is entirely too long a time to be cooped up in a plane with a grouchy fifteen-year-old semi-protégé and a twenty five-year-old who had only become your friend with benefits after another man took over your body and had a drunken hookup with him, but somehow Viktor manages. While Yuri and Christophe sleep next to him, he goes through the photos of last year’s GPF banquet on his laptop, smiling as he goes from picture to picture of Yuuri’s red-faced, drunken (and yet adorable) expressions.

It’s rather surprising that Yuuri hadn’t come across these pictures while they had been switching. Maybe Yuuri just didn’t spend that much time on his laptop. It’s not like Viktor was _hiding_ them, after all.

He plays a video that Mila had sent him the morning after. In it, he and Yuuri are dancing together. At first they leave some distance between one another, but then they slowly progress closer and closer into each other’s space, mirroring each other’s movements until they are dancing together, bodies pressed flush against one another and exhilarated grins on their faces.

If there’s any chance that this half-baked plan in his head can restore Yuuri to him, Viktor will do it. The warmth is still coursing through him, almost threatening to overwhelm. He can barely even sleep out of excitement and anticipation.

The last time he had felt like this, he had danced with Yuuri at the banquet.

Viktor plays another video, this one sent to him from Sara. Yuuri is clinging onto him, half-dressed, with that familiar ugly tie around his head. He’s babbling in drunken Japanese, his hips grinding against Viktor’s without any sort of grace.

Viktor can’t help but smile at that.

In a sudden switch to English, the on-screen Yuuri begs on-screen Viktor to become his coach, and throws his arms around the other man’s shoulders. Viktor sighs. Though he had been perfectly ready to say yes on the spot that night, he had dismissed it the morning after as drunken ramblings. How stupid of him.

Though, now that he really thinks about it, in a way he’d been coaching Yuuri all year through their switches. Granted, it was Yuuri from last year, but even just this little feeling of being in another skater’s shoes and helping them maximise their potential? It had been amazing.

Come what may on this trip, he’s going to try coaching after this season. Even in death, Yuuri Katsuki has given him a new direction in life.

 


	4. in this city and in this night

It’s five in the evening the next day when they finally arrive at Fukuoka Airport. Yuri immediately finds the nearest WiFi hotspot to send off messages to people — or rather, just Otabek, if Viktor’s cursory glance towards the teen’s mobile is of any indicator.

The train to Hasetsu drops them off in the heart of a town struggling to get back onto its feet. Great swathes of the town are still being rebuilt, especially the portions closer to the ocean. Though there are parts of town that had been left mostly unscathed from the worst of both the earthquake and the tsunami, there are also parts that are just hulking piles of rubble, ominous in the rapidly-darkening winter evening.

They hail a cab to their hotel. While Yuri and Christophe look up and talk about dinner options, Viktor watches the flicker of passing lights. Small piles of dirtied snow litter the pavement and blanket the ruins of houses and shops. The people slowly returning to this town hurry along in the cold, their coats wrapped close and their masks covering their faces.

Yuri drags them out to a restaurant as soon as they’ve checked in. The place he’s picked is apparently newly reopened, and there’s a decent-sized crowd in it when they enter and find their table. The waitress blushes whenever Viktor even so much as looks her way, and practically thrusts the menus at them in her rush to retreat to the kitchen.

Viktor smiles a little at that, and then opens the menu. She’s given them the English ones, which probably means it’s mostly just tourist fare. But he does notice that katsudon is on it, and his mind is made up. He remembers the note Yuuri had left on his first bowl of katsudon: **_Sorry this isn’t authentic, Russian supermarkets don’t have panko bread crumbs!_** It had been delicious anyway, so he’s quite excited to try the real deal.

It doesn’t disappoint. “Vkusno!” Viktor exclaims as soon as he’s had the first bite. Yuri rolls his eyes at him, and Christophe laughs from over his own bowl.

“I didn’t know you had such a soft spot for this dish,” Christophe says, dragging his tongue over his chopsticks in a way that was surely considered obscene in any country that uses them for utensils. “But then again, you did make it for me the last time I was in Saint Petersburg.”

Viktor’s heart skips a beat. That must have been during that one switch in July. He’d rebuked Yuuri for it at the time, because he’d woken up to ten new selfies of Christophe in a Saint Petersburg hotel room followed by winky emojis. He smiles at the recollection now.

“I’m glad there’s at least one person in this world who likes my cooking,” he says, turning back to the katsudon in front of him.

The manager herself comes out to their table as they’re finishing up. “I heard something about three very good-looking foreign guests in my restaurant, and I wanted to see for myself,” she says, and Viktor isn’t sure _why_ he feels a strange tugging sensation towards her, but he does.

“The katsudon was divine!” he says. “I’m sure it’s _exactly_ what god eats.”

The manager blinks, and then gapes. She’s clearly recognised him. “ _Viktor Nikiforov_!” she gasps, and then she turns and sees Christophe and Yuri as well. “Christophe Giacometti! Yuri Plisetsky! What — how — this is such an honour!”

Viktor smiles. “Nice to meet you,” he offers, extending a hand. She shakes it eagerly, eyes shining.

“Minako Okukawa! I — wow. I’m speechless. Viktor Nikiforov, in Hasetsu!” And then a strange sadness seems to pass over her face, and Viktor just _knows_.

“You knew Yuuri Katsuki, didn’t you?” he asks quietly.

Minako nods. Viktor gestures to the empty seat across from him, and she takes it with a quick nod of thanks.

“Viktor here is trying to find him,” says Yuri without preamble, causing Viktor to glare at him. “What? It’s the truth.”

Minako purses her lips. “Well, he’s dead,” she points out bluntly.

“I know,” replies Viktor, though it pains him to say that. “I would just… like to pay my respects.”

“Then it’s good that you’ve found me,” says Minako. “I was a family friend of the Katsukis. The tsunami was not kind to them, I’m afraid. They…” she cut off, her hands clenching on the table. “Toshiya Katsuki was the only survivor in the family after the disaster,” she says after a moment, her voice weak. “He’s left Hasetsu, though. Too many lost memories. I held onto the family mementos that he’d managed to salvage, but…” she trails off again, her eyes shiny in the dim lighting of the restaurant.

“Wait.” Christophe frowns suddenly. “ _Minako Okukawa_! I knew your name sounded familiar. Didn’t you win the Benois de la Danse? What are you doing managing a restaurant?”

“I lost my old apartment and ballet studio,” she replies. “But my old snack bar was just a little damaged, so I thought I’d refurbish it into a proper restaurant.” She pauses. “The Katsukis used to run a hot springs resort in town, the Yu-Topia Katsuki. Some of the mementos Toshiya gave me before he left were the recipes for the family’s favourite dishes, including Yuuri’s favourite dish, katsudon.” She laughs a little, looking at Viktor’s now empty-bowl. “He probably would’ve been touched to hear you like it so much. He really looked up to you, Viktor.”

The lump in his throat is back. Viktor can feel tears threatening to blur his vision, so he reaches up to wipe them away as discreetly as he can.

“I am sorry it took me so long to find him,” he says quietly. Minako’s own smile is watery.

“If you would like to pay your respects, I can take you to see him tomorrow,” she offers.

Viktor nods. “I’d like that,” he agrees.

* * *

Viktor’s washing up for the night in the ensuite bathroom of their hotel room when he hears Christophe and Yuri mention his name.

“...the one with some weird arrangement with Viktor anyway, so you should share one with him,” Yuri is saying, as Viktor presses his ear to the paper-thin wall between the bathroom and the bedroom. It’s slightly muffled, but he catches most of Yuri’s words. “Also you snore like a shitty motorcycle, so I want you as far away from me as possible.”

Christophe’s reply is even more muffled due to distance, so Viktor has to strain a little to catch what he’s saying. “I’m not sure if the arrangement is even in place anymore. He’s been acting a bit differently since the Cup of China.”

“You mean, he’s back to normal,” says Yuri.

“I don’t know if I necessarily like it,” replies Christophe. “He’s a lot more likeable when he’s more relaxed.”

“Yeah, maybe at the price of looking like a fucking joke,” snips Yuri. Viktor bristles a little at that. The videos that Yuri himself took clearly show that Yuuri’s skating, even in Viktor’s body, wasn’t a joke.

“You’re just sore that he’s finally taking the time to stop being some sort of gold medal skating robot,” says Christophe. “Trust me, I’ve been competing with him for a while now. I can tell when he’s being camera-friendly and when he’s being real-friendly, and this past year he’s been more of the latter than the former for once in his life.”

There’s a long pause, in which Viktor can hear footsteps, as though either Yuri or Christophe is pacing the floor.

Finally, Yuri speaks up again. “You think this sudden crazy idea to go visit Katsudon’s hometown is part of it?”

“Maybe,” replies Christophe. “He seemed surprised to hear that Yuuri Katsuki was dead in the first place. He even tried calling him and pulling up his texts, like he’d been communicating with Yuuri beyond the grave or something.”

Yuri snorts. “Maybe he got catfished.”

Christophe makes a noise that Viktor can’t really hear, but it sounds a little like a chuckle. “Catfished or not, whoever he met really changed him. I mean, I liked him even before all of this, in that way that you like someone totally unreachable, you know?”

“...Go on,” says Yuri, and Viktor can almost imagine the younger Russian with his arms and legs crossed, a sceptical yet intrigued expression on his face.

“But it’s always been like he was observing the rest of us from the top of the podium like we existed outside some sort of ice bubble from him,” continues Christophe. “Which, you know, makes for good rival material, but not good friend material.”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Yuri. “But what’s it got to do with Katsudon?”

“You saw how they were at the banquet,” says Christophe. “Which is honestly why I’m surprised Viktor hadn’t known that Yuuri was dead until the Cup of China. Based on the way he acted whenever I was in Saint Petersburg, you’d have thought he’d moved on from whatever crush he developed that night.”

Yuri snorts. “Guess not,” he says.

Viktor turns away from the wall then, as Yuri and Christophe change the topic to something about Hasetsu Castle. Leaning heavily against the counter of the sink, he looks into the mirror and notices, for the first time in a long while, the shadows under his eyes and the slight thinning in his hair.

He splashes more water onto his face, trying to dispel the image, and then leans his forehead against the cool glass of the mirror.

 _Tomorrow_ , he tells himself. _Tomorrow I’ll see Yuuri again._

* * *

The cemetery in Hasetsu is on a quiet little hillside, much farther inland and mostly unscathed from the disaster in April. A couple gravestones are cracked, and many more seem to have been recently erected. Minako wends her way between the silent stone monoliths, the three skaters following close behind her.

Finally, they stop before one in a very quiet corner of the hill, under the shade of a little cypress tree. Minako kneels before the stone, takes out a small brush, and begins to clean it.

“Let me,” Viktor says quietly. Minako relinquishes the brush, and Viktor kneels down next to her, clearing out the patina of dirt lightly resting on the cold marble. He doesn’t recognise most of the names on the stone, save one.

His fingers trace the kanji for Yuuri’s name, and briefly he has to remember how to breathe again. Minako takes the brush from him, and Viktor, useless, watches her finish cleaning.

She then lights incense sticks in the holders at the base. Christophe steps forward, a bouquet of blue roses in his arms. Minako sets them into the vase also at the foot of the grave, and steps back, her eyes downcast in prayer.

The smoke from the incense stings at Viktor’s eyes the longer he remains kneeling by the grave with his heart pounding in his chest. He measures the time with each heartbeat, trying to grasp onto the warmth that had burned in him back in Barcelona. He came here to connect with Yuuri, so how could he feel _nothing_ here?

He closes his eyes, and the sliding noise of blades against ice fills his ears unbidden. In his mind’s eye he suddenly sees a glimpse of Yuuri, at centre ice in an unfamiliar rink, his gaze turned towards heaven as he begins a familiar routine...

“Viktor?” asks Minako. Viktor opens his eyes. Yuuri’s name on the gravestone is the first thing he sees.

“Minako-san,” Viktor says quietly as he rises to his feet. “What mementos of Yuuri’s do you have?”

* * *

After they leave the graveyard, Minako takes them to her new apartment. While Yuri and Christophe watch some sort of weird game show on the television, she takes Viktor aside to a small, dimly lit room where a picture of the Katsuki family sits on a small table. Next to it is a picture of another family, this one of a young couple with three little girls. _All too young to be dead_ , Viktor thinks, as he looks down at the table.

Minako brings out a box from the corner of the room. Inside are posters of Yuuri, some of them sporting water damage. Then there’s a cracked pair of blue-framed glasses, a photograph of a younger Yuuri with a poodle puppy, and — Viktor inhales sharply — a familiar pair of scuffed up figure skates.

“Can I?” he asks quietly, gesturing to the skates. She nods.

“He probably would have wanted you to have them,” she says. “He had always wanted to compete on the same ice as you. You were his inspiration for working as hard as he did to become Japan’s top skater.”

The skates are a familiar weight in Viktor’s hands. They’re also a little smaller than he recalls, but then the last time he’d seen them, he had been in Yuuri’s body. He smiles.

“I am honoured,” he says, and Minako smiles back.

Viktor clutches the skates to him all the way back to the hotel. Yuri and Christophe send him funny looks, but say nothing about it. They grab lunch at a ramen shop, and afterwards Christophe detaches himself from the group to go do some sightseeing. Yuri and Viktor return to the hotel, then, and while Yuri browses through the television, Viktor texts Minako.

_Did Yuuri skate at any rinks here in Hasetsu?_

He gets the answer within the hour. _Yes,_ _Ice Castle Hasetsu. It was damaged very badly in the disaster, though. They just finished restoring it in November and it’s now called the Katsuki Yūri Memorial Rink._

Viktor looks up the directions to the rink, and then looks over at Yuri, who has apparently settled on some sort of animated show featuring a man who likes punching things.

 _When’s the best time to skate there?_ he asks Minako.

 _Around now is usually their afternoon slump_ , she replies. _Why_?

_I have something I need to do._

Yuri looks over at Viktor from where he’s lounging on the bed. “Oh no,” he says. “You’re up to something.”

“What makes you say that?” wonders Viktor, already crossing the room to where Yuuri’s skates sit, blade guards flashing dully in the afternoon sunlight from the window.

“I’m coming with you,” insists Yuri.

“No, you’re not,” says Viktor, as he grabs the skates.

“Why not?” demands the teenager.

“You wouldn’t understand,” replies Viktor.

“Try me.”

Viktor shakes his head, and turns to the door. “Whenever Christophe returns, tell him I’ve gone for a walk and won’t be back in time for dinner.”

“Who brings skates with them on a _walk_?” scoffs Yuri, turning back to the television with a resigned sort of huff. “Fine, you win. But you better keep your phone on you. I’ll kill you if something happens to you because you were being _stupid_.”

Viktor laughs. “If you say so,” he replies, and leaves.

He takes a cab to the rink. It’s one of the few buildings that have been rebuilt in the destroyed part of town, probably because the people of Hasetsu had been so eager to memorialise it for a town hero who had perished in the disaster. From here, he can smell the salt of the sea breeze and see the glimmer of the ocean beyond the piles of rubble that might have once been a bridge spanning the harbour. Clouds are starting to roll in to cover the afternoon sun; the smell of rain is heavy in the air.

Viktor enters the building and pays the public fee to the pimpled teenager behind the counter. All around the refurbished lobby there are posters and photographs of Yuuri Katsuki, as well as an entire case of slightly waterlogged medals and trophies. _Probably donated by Minako_ , Viktor realises with a twinge in his gut. He walks onwards.

The ice is, as Minako had promised, completely empty due to the afternoon slump. It has also been recently resurfaced, with only a couple scratches in its surface. Viktor laces up Yuuri’s skates, clenching his jaw when he notices that they're a little tight on his own feet. Setting the skate guards on the seat next to him, he heads out to the ice. After doing a lap to get used to Yuuri’s skates again, he heads out to centre ice.

The music comes to him from memory. It’s a plaintive plea for closeness that he hadn’t known would ever be answered until he met Yuuri. Yuuri, who in the infinite strangeness of the cosmos, came to him a year too early and yet too late. Their timelines had always been out of sync. And it was up to Viktor to fix it in the only way he knew how.

So he looks towards heaven, places a hand to the side of his head, and begins the programme.

At first, it’s like blindly groping in the dark. Yuuri’s skates press in too tight on his toes, and for a moment all that fills his world is the white-hot blindness of pain. But he continues to skate through it, preparing himself for his first quad. The music thrums through him as he lands the quad Lutz, and he feels his heart racing faster in response.

There’s something calling out to him. That burning hope is back in him; he just has to keep skating, keep bringing it out. He _knows_ now, more than ever, that there must still be a piece of Yuuri’s soul inside him. If it were at all possible to restore even just _that_ piece of Yuuri, if it were at all possible for one last chance to make things right, Viktor would —

He knows he’s going to fall on the quad flip before his blades have even left the ground. The world seems to skew as he flies through the air, spinning once, twice, thrice, four —

The coldness of the ice comes rushing up to meet him, and Viktor closes his eyes and braces himself for an impact that never comes.


	5. a memory without consolation

At first, it feels like he’s drowning. All he’s aware of is the tightness of the skates on his feet and the burning in his lungs. Viktor kicks and struggles against the current pulling him down, to no avail.

Then the world explodes around him in brilliant light, and although he’s still falling, he stops struggling to watch the images flashing before him, each of them connected to him by a tenuous red thread.

**_“Look what I can do!” a little boy exclaims, skating a small circle on the ice. A little girl at the edge of the rink claps for him._ **

**_“That was beautiful, Yuuri!” she cries._ **

The images blur and disappear, but are then quickly replaced by new ones. Yuuri and the girl are older now, watching something on television.

**_“That’s Viktor Nikiforov, the current Junior World Champion. Isn’t he cool?” the girl asks._ **

Little Yuuri stares at the television, his brown eyes wide and sparkling in that way that Viktor loves. He is whisked away before he can react further, though, and the image changes into Yuuri and the girl jumping together on the ice. Then Yuuri is seen alone, practicing step sequences until they’re absolutely perfect.

**_“Yuuri-kun, you got a puppy, too?” asks the girl as they stand in front of the rink doors._ **

**_“Yeah!” says Yuuri, admiring the small poodle in his arms. “His name is Viktor.”_ **

**_“You really look up to Viktor, don’t you? I hope you’ll be able to skate on the same ice as him someday,” says the girl, and although Yuuri flushes pink at that, his eyes are shining with steely determination._ **

Ice Castle Hasetsu rapidly fades below him as he is whisked away to Detroit. Viktor clings onto the thread as he watches an older Yuuri write questions onto his hand — watches him practice his quad sal over and over until he finally lands it — watches him practice Viktor’s free skate almost as if he knows one day he’ll have to skate it himself —

**_Stupid Viktor. Like he’s one to comment on my loneliness. I haven’t had any calls or visits from anyone who might even remotely pass as a lover on his end!_ **

Viktor watches Yuuri wake up as him in a hotel room in Beijing on the night of the Cup of China free skate. He watches Yuuri comb his hair in the mirror and get dressed in his outfit, and notices with some shame that Yuuri does not grab his butt.

**_Viktor will probably do well in the NHK Trophy, so I’ll have to try my best with his programme!_ **

He watches Yuuri in his own body skate out to centre ice, watches the dim echoes of piano music fall softly around him, watches Yuuri fall — but with enough rotations — on the quad flip, and nail the quad Salchow at the end.

**_This is a piece about love, I know. Maybe it’s even a piece about us?_ **

And _oh_ , how Viktor wants to tell him that he’s right. The piece is for them, and their strange intertwined love story that seems to transcend time and space. But the words get stuck in his throat with no way to dislodge them, and the image of Yuuri-as-him standing on the second place platform on the podium distorts and fades like a reflection of moonlight on a suddenly-disturbed lake.

**_I’ve made it to the Grand Prix Final! I’ll finally get to meet Viktor!_ **

_Oh no_. Viktor cries out at the sudden revelation, but already he’s falling away from the image of Yuuri sitting in a toilet stall in Sochi, tears falling fast and thick from his eyes. The droplets seem to chase him down, down, blossoming into another image before his eyes.

It’s Yuuri arriving in Hasetsu, heavier-looking than Viktor remembers, defeat clinging to him like a stormcloud. Viktor watches a television broadcast of the World Championships playing in the dining area of what must have been Yu-Topia Katsuki, and Yuuri runs right past it on his way to the rink.

**_I need to show Yuuko this one last routine. She was the one who first introduced me to Viktor, who first believed in me. I need to thank her._ **

“You need to get out!” Viktor yells, even as the red strings pull him away from the image of Yuuri standing centre ice, ready for his last performance. “Yuuri! Listen to me! There’s an earthquake and a tsunami coming for Hasetsu and you need to evacuate!”

The strings pull him towards the final image, of Yuuri and that girl — Yuuko — emerging from the wreckage of the ice rink, just in time to see the rapid muddy swirl of the waves bearing down on them.

“Yuuri! Get out of there!” Viktor screams, as he helplessly watches Yuuri’s beautiful brown eyes widen in fear. “Yuuri, _please_!”

And as the water comes rushing down, Viktor screams Yuuri’s name until his voice runs out, and then the world around him crashes into blackness.

* * *

Viktor gasps as his eyes snap open. He tries to move his head, only to come up against a travel pillow wrapped snugly around his neck. The rumble of the train fills the air, and Viktor turns to watch as cities and towns blur by in flashes of grey and white.

He then catches a glimpse of his reflection in the glass, and startles. Yuuri’s face stares back at him, a black beanie snug on his head and a bright blue scarf wound tight around his neck. His mask is pulled up to his nose, and his tan jacket is buttoned up over what feels like a mountain of layers. Viktor is also fairly certain if he reached beneath those layers and groped, he’d find a new layer of fat that he’s sure hadn’t been there the last time they switched.

It might not be competition-worthy, but right now Viktor couldn’t give two shits about that. He’s back in Yuuri’s body. Yuuri is still alive. He can feel tears rising in his eyes, and he has to resist the urge to hug and squeeze himself out of concern for the people in the seats next to him. But oh _god_ , does he want to. He mentally catalogues every heartbeat, every breath. He savours the warmth of Yuuri’s skin and the softness of his body.

God, Yuuri’s ass must be downright _plush_ now. But he’s not about to test that thought in public.

He nearly misses the announcement for Hasetsu Station, but he manages to get off in time anyway, lugging Yuuri’s red suitcase with him as he finds the escalators for the exit.

Almost as soon as he descends into the station, he is confronted with countless posters of Yuuri’s face. Viktor has to stifle a chuckle at that. Yuuri had mentioned in several reports before that he was just one of the ‘dime a dozen’ figure skaters in Japan, a nobody that no one would miss. How very wrong he was, even while he had been alive. Posters of Yuuri Katsuki seem to comprise of eighty-five percent of this station’s décor. Clearly the kid is a town hero.

A familiar voice jolts him out of his musings. “Yuuri!” Minako calls, and Viktor turns to see her on the other end of the ticket barrier, her leg extended in an arabesque as she greets him with a banner with Yuuri’s name on it.

“Minako!” he exclaims, stepping towards the barrier. For a moment he fumbles through all of Yuuri’s readily available pockets, trying to find his ticket. Finally, he locates it in the pocket of his sweatpants, and crosses the barrier. “It’s good to see you!”

She raises an eyebrow. “That’s Minako- _sensei_ to you, Yuuri-kun,” she insists. “Also, what’s with the English? Did you leave your brain in America?”

Viktor laughs sheepishly. “Let’s go with that, yeah,” he says. “Minako- _sensei_ ,” he adds hastily. She rolls her eyes, grabs his hand, and starts steering him towards the exit.

Viktor looks around, noticing that people are staring at him and whispering to each other in Japanese. Yuuri seems to have been the talk of the town, then. He smiles and waves at a kid and a little old lady, as Minako continues to push him out of the station.

“You’ve gotten friendlier with your fans, it seems,” she says. “America must be doing wonders for you.”

“I guess so,” says Viktor, looking around him in wonder as they finally exit the station and he is bombarded with the sight of cherry trees dropping their petals like giant pink snow flurries. It’s a sight from Japan that he’s pretty sure he’ll never get used to, no matter how many times he visits in the spring. “Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you home, silly,” Minako replies, dragging him towards the parking lot. “The World Championships are on tonight; you wouldn’t want to miss seeing Viktor Nikiforov, would you?”

Viktor has to laugh at that, a little. Minako sends him an odd look, and then goes to unlock her car. As Viktor loads Yuuri’s luggage into the trunk and takes a seat in the passenger side, he looks down at Yuuri’s phone for the time. It’s only early afternoon. He has time.

“Minako-sensei,” he says, as the car pulls out of the parking lot. “Have you heard anything in the news lately about… earthquakes?”

She stares at him oddly. “No, Yuuri. Why?”

Viktor watches Hasetsu roll past him for a while, still proud and beautiful before the fall, and sighs. “I just…” How does he even _do_ something like this? “I just have a feeling that maybe we should get everyone we know and get out of here as soon as possible,” he blurts out.

Minako’s brows furrow. “You shouldn’t say such nonsense, Yuuri,” she says after a moment.

Viktor bristles. “It’s not nonsense!” he snaps. “There’s going to be an earthquake and a tsunami tonight, and we all need to evacuate!”

Minako’s knuckles suddenly turn white on the steering wheel, as if she’s trying to stay on the road instead of veering off to the side to demand if he’d finally lost it. She takes a couple deep breaths, and then says, in a voice that is clearly trying to be calm:

“What makes you think that that’s going to happen?”

“I —” Viktor cuts off. He takes a deep breath as well. “I just _know_ , all right?”

“Don’t they usually send out a warning on the news if there’s an earthquake coming?”

“Yes, but this one is unexpected! That’s why I’m telling you this!” It comes out more petulant and hysterical than he would have liked, but Minako seems to take it in stride, more or less.

“Okay,” she says. “Say I believe you, Yuuri. What would you want me to do, turn around and drive us out of town right now?”

“Not yet.” Viktor shakes his head. “We need to get everyone to evacuate.”

Minako nods, slowly. “And how do you propose we do that?”

“I…” Viktor struggles for a moment. “I’m not sure,” he admits.

Minako huffs. “The Nishigoris at Ice Castle actually have access to a lot of the town’s broadcast equipment. You could start there.”

Viktor would have hugged her right then and there, if she hadn’t been driving and if he hadn’t been sure that that would look very out of character in Yuuri’s body. So instead, he settles for a simple thank you and turns his attention back to the passing scenery.

They finally arrive at a traditional-styled ryokan sporting a sign announcing it as the Yu-Topia Katsuki at the gate. Minako parks the car in the courtyard and they unload Yuuri’s luggage, wheeling it in through the main entrance. Viktor’s breath is taken away at the warmth that seems to permeate the air in this little inn. It’s clearly a small family-run business, and just the thought of Yuuri growing up in such an environment makes his heart feel strangely fluttery inside.

He then remembers what he’s here to do, and coldness seizes him in that same instant. There’s no way he can save this entire building from what’s to come. But he could at least try to save the people in it.

Minako shouts a greeting in Japanese. Moments later a stout middle-aged woman comes running out to greet them, her eyes sparkling in a familiar way. _Yuuri’s mother_ , Viktor realises, and the coldness seizes his heart again.

He blinks when there’s a sudden long silence, and realises that he should have responded to something Yuuri’s mother has just said. “Sorry,” Viktor says, sheepishly. “I’m not sure what you just said.”

Yuuri’s mom sends a concerned look to Minako, who responds in Japanese. She then turns to him again, her gaze warm and welcoming.

“It’s been too long since we last saw you, Yuuri. Welcome home,” she says, in accented but fluent English.

“Oh,” says Viktor. He’s not sure how long it’s been, really. “It’s good to be home, I guess.”

“It’s too bad you couldn’t make the cut for Worlds this year, but at least that means we get to see more of you!” continues Yuuri’s mother, and Viktor’s heart almost stops at the implications of Yuuri possibly being at Worlds tonight instead of here in Hasetsu. Especially now since he’s meeting Yuuri’s loved ones, he’s not sure which situation is worse. “But you’re probably very hungry from travelling all day. I can make you a bowl of katsudon if you’d like!”

Viktor’s stomach growls a little at that. “I would like that,” he agrees.

He gets the distinct feeling he’s missing something, though, as Yuuri’s mother helps lug Yuuri’s suitcase to his room. Viktor scrambles to follow her, trying to memorise the layout of the inn so as not to make of fool of himself by getting lost in Yuuri’s own childhood home. He goes through Yuuri’s phone, trying to find any notes from him that might help. Unfortunately, the notes and reports aren’t there.

 _Great. I have to do this the hard way_ , Viktor thinks sullenly as he is deposited in Yuuri’s room and left to unpack. A couple notes on whatever Yuuri does when he’s home would help right about now.

He looks around at the room, and whistles when he sees the sheer number of Viktor Nikiforov pictures and posters hanging everywhere. It seems to be about the same poster-to-wall ratio as it was at Hasetsu Station. He’s tempted to sign all of them, but he knows that that would probably be a waste of time.

He checks his phone again. The men’s free skate begins at seven, and it’s currently four. The earthquake is supposed to hit around eight-thirty, with some time in between the main shock and the subsequent tsunami. He has time to warn people, if they’ll listen.

Minako had mentioned something earlier about the Nishigori family at the Ice Castle having access to broadcasting equipment. He just has to figure out how to get to the rink from here.

Pulling up directions to Ice Castle as he goes, Viktor rushes out of Yuuri’s room.

He’s stopped halfway through the lobby by a woman with short bleach-tipped hair and a yukata that denotes her as an employee at Yu-Topia. “What’s the rush, Yuuri?” she asks.

Viktor notes, to some relief, that news must have gotten around to talk to him in English. “I’m heading out,” he says.

“Out?” she echoes. “You just got here. Mom’s fixing katsudon for you. Why not rest a little in the hot springs?”

“I need to go to Ice Castle,” says Viktor, as his stomach churns at the realisation that this woman must be Yuuri’s sister. Another soul to save.

“So you’re returning to skating after this season?” she asks.

Viktor blinks. “Um,” he replies intelligently. _Yuuri, help! What am I supposed to say_?

“You know we’ll support you no matter what you do, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, suddenly finding the shine of the wooden flooring fascinating.

She seems to have sensed his discomfort about the topic, and puts a hand on his shoulder. “I know you want to run off and get practicing, Yuuri, but Mom thought it was odd that you haven’t said hello to Vicchan yet.”

“Vicchan,” echoes Viktor.

Yuuri’s sister looks at him oddly, and begins steering him in the direction of a set of sliding doors. “Yes, Yuuri, Vicchan. You know. The dog you begged Mom and Dad for for months? The one you loved more than probably the rest of us put together? Come on, don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten —”

And then she shoves him through the doorway and slides the door closed behind him. Viktor almost stumbles off the ledge before the tatami mats, but he gets a hold of himself and takes off his slippers before crossing the room to a shrine where a familiar picture of a younger Yuuri holding a little poodle puppy sits.

Viktor exhales. Yuuri had talked about his dog in some notes. But he hadn’t known the dog’s name, or that it was dead.

Remembering what Minako did at the grave, Viktor reaches out and dusts off the photo on the altar with a little brush, and then lights a stick of incense in the holder in front of it. He notices that the dog’s tags are lying next to the photo, alongside a cooling plate of steamed buns.

Viktor laughs a little at that. Makkachin would have loved these buns.

“Vicchan,” he says quietly, turning to the photograph. The little poodle looked exactly like Makkachin when Viktor had first gotten him. Yuuri probably would have mentioned having a dead dog if it had happened before their last switch at the NHK Trophy, so Vicchan must have died between then and now. The thought squeezes at him a little.

“Vicchan, I know you probably can’t hear this, and if you can you probably wouldn’t know who I am,” he says. “I’m Viktor, the person Yuuri named you after. I’ve come here to make things right. I know it’s selfish of me to say this, but Yuuri shouldn’t have been reunited with you so soon and so violently. He should’ve lived so many more years… and come to rejoin you in his sleep all old and wrinkly and _loved_ …”

He can feel the lump in his throat again and the sting of tears in his eyes.

“Please, Vicchan, give me strength. Give me the courage I need to save Yuuri and his family from the disaster tonight. And give me…” he cuts off, wiping at his eyes, “...Give me the chance to show Yuuri that I love him.”

He lingers by the shrine a moment longer, before rising and leaving the room. Yuuri’s sister, who had been loitering in the hall with a cigarette, nods at him on his way out of the ryokan.

Viktor pulls up the directions to the Ice Castle again, and _runs_.

Ice Castle looks a little older than he last remembers it. Viktor checks the time as he goes running up the steps to the rink. It’s slipping into late afternoon now; he’s got roughly three and a half hours left before the earthquake.

He bursts in through the doors, causing the girl behind the counter to look up in surprise. It’s Yuuko, and she bursts into a smile and a greeting that goes entirely over his head.

“Yuuri?” she asks, confused, when he doesn't answer.

Viktor shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I can’t speak Japanese right now,” he apologises.

She looks at him quizzically. “Is there something wrong?”

“Yes,” says Viktor immediately. “There’s going to be an earthquake and a tsunami in Hasetsu tonight, and we need to evacuate the town as soon as we can. Can I get access to your broadcasting equipment?”

It’s only after he’s blurted all of that out when he realises that that was probably very uncharacteristic of Yuuri, because Yuuko is staring at him with her head cocked to the side.

“Are you feeling well, Yuuri?” she asks. “Come over here; maybe I should take your temperature.”

“I’m fine!” Viktor exclaims. “Please, Yuuko, you have to believe me!”

“I wish I could, but it just seems — there’s no way —”

“Yuuri!” Another person suddenly grabs Viktor into a headlock, saying yet another greeting in Japanese that Viktor can’t understand. He looks up to find a taller, beefier man with a good-natured face.

“Hi?” he manages, through his rapidly dwindling supply of oxygen.

“Takeshi!” admonishes Yuuko. “Let him go!”

The man complies, laughing sheepishly and ruffling Viktor’s hair. “It’s been a long time since you were last here, Yuuri! You’re just as fat as I am now!”

Viktor groans. He’s then abruptly tackled by three identical little girls dressed in pink, purple, and blue.

“Good to have you back, Yuuri!”

“Wow, you really did get fat, Yuuri!”

“Did you really lose your Japanese in America, Yuuri?”

Viktor clambers back to his feet, looking down at the three girls who are avidly taking pictures of his rapidly-reddening face. _A young couple with three girls_ —

“Axel, Lutz, Loop!” barks Yuuko. “Stop harassing the poor boy; he just got back!”

Viktor swallows. He has to save them, too.

“Takeshi,” he says, turning to the man. “Please, do me a favour. Get your family out of town right now. Go as far inland as you can, and to high ground if possible.”

Takeshi Nishigori frowns. “What’s wrong, Yuuri?” he asks.

“He says there’s going to be an earthquake and a tsunami tonight,” says Yuuko.

“What?” demands the triplets. “No way!”

“Wouldn’t they send out a warning if this were to happen?” asks Takeshi.

“But by then it’ll be too late!” insists Viktor. “Please. _Trust me_.”

Takeshi nods, and Viktor feels relief flood through him.

Yuuko frowns. “What about the other people in Hasetsu? Shouldn’t we warn them, too?”

“That’s why I asked for access to your broadcasting equipment,” says Viktor. “We have to get the town to evacuate, _now_.”

“But the World Championships are tonight!” Axel complains.

“ _You’re going to die if you stay here_!” Viktor shouts.

There’s silence for several minutes. Viktor’s heart is beating so loud it’s a miracle no one else can hear it.

 _What if no one else believes me? If they all die in spite of my warnings, then would all of this have been my fault_?

Anxiety creeps into his thoughts, poisoning them with fear. He can feel his heart racing, his breath quickening. The Nishigori family’s faces seem to distort into distant, monstrous beings.

 _No. Not like this_. Viktor squeezes his eyes shut. _I can’t let this get to me_ now.

Suddenly, Yuuri’s name cuts through the fog in his mind. He opens his eyes, and Yuuko has a hand on his arm, a smile on her face.

“We’ll send out a broadcast to the town,” she says. “And we’ll go pick up your family on our way out of Hasetsu.”

Viktor takes a deep breath and smiles back. “Good,” he says.

“We’ll send out a press notification right now!” Lutz declares, and the three girls immediately scamper off through a set of doors, giggling.

Viktor could almost collapse right there on the spot. Yuuko’s hand hasn’t left his arm yet.

“Are you sure you want to miss Viktor’s skating, Yuuri?” she asks, her eyes twinkling in jest. Viktor looks at the glass doors to the skating rink, and with a startle he remembers.

If he’s here in Yuuri’s body, then that means Yuuri’s here, too, but in his. 

“I’m sure of it,” he says, his gaze fixated on the glass doors. “Please, go. Send out the evacuation notice, and get out of here with my family.”

Yuuko and Takeshi startle at that. “What about you, then?” Takeshi asks.

“I’ll find a way out,” says Viktor, and checks Yuuri’s phone. It’s almost seven. Outside, the sky is beginning to darken into shades of pink.

He feels more than hears the other two leave, and strides towards the doors separating the lobby from the rink.

* * *

The first thing Yuuri feels when he wakes is _cold_. His face and hands are pressed firmly against ice, and he can feel all throughout his body the dull throb of having fallen on ice.

Slowly, he pushes himself into a sitting position. A fringe of silver hair falls into his eyes.

Oh. He’s in Viktor’s body.

Yuuri looks around at his surroundings. The ice rink he’s sitting on still has the familiar insignia of the Ice Castle on it, so he must still be in Hasetsu.

Then what’s Viktor doing in Hasetsu? And wearing _his_ skates, no less?

Yuuri slowly skates towards the entrance to the rink, clutching the boards for support. His toes feel too compressed in these skates and his entire body aches. Whatever Viktor did to his body might need some medical attention soon.

He steps off the ice, finds his guards, and puts them on. Finally, he changes back into Viktor’s shoes and strides out of the rink —

Only to find himself in a completely different lobby. The walls are plastered in posters and photos of him; there’s even a display case full of his trophies.

Yuuri’s heart feels like it’s lodged in his throat. _Where did they_ —

His eyes fall on the plaque by the door, and he runs up to read it, feeling his stomach drop as he does.

 _This rink, formerly the Ice Castle Hasetsu, has been rebuilt and renamed in memory of_  
_Katsuki Yūri_  
_1992-2016_  
_Top figure skater in Japan, and first in our hearts._

Yuuri races out of the building, his heart pounding. From the top of the steps he looks out at the pile of rubble that had been the bridge between Yu-Topia and the Ice Castle, and the shells of so many other familiar buildings around the rink. The sun is setting already, dying the sky in shades of pink, casting the snow-covered ruins in hues of sparkling gold.

 _So then, that tsunami_ …

Yuuri’s knees wobble. He sinks down to the concrete, staring out at the devastated seascape.

... _It must have killed me_.


	6. you come out of eternity

Viktor doesn’t find his body on the ice. Of course not; how could he? He’s technically supposed to be miles away in Tokyo, getting ready to skate to “Stammi Vicino” one last time.

Their timelines are still out of sync. But this is also the closest they’ve been to each other, save for the GPF in Sochi —

Suddenly, he remembers, but through Yuuri’s eyes...

**_“Yuri!” Viktor’s voice resounds from behind Yuuri. He turns, his expression falling when he sees that Viktor is talking to Yuri Plisetsky. “Your free skate was good, but you need to work on your step —”_ **

**_“I won, so what does it matter?” demands the other Yuri, as Yuuri tries to slow the racing of his heart._ **

**_Maybe he just hasn’t noticed me yet. I’ve been trading places with him all year, after all; he’s bound to notice me. Though, it hasn’t happened again since the NHK Trophy… he must be disappointed that I failed so badly at the GPF…_ **

Viktor feels a burning in his side as he races through the rooms surrounding the rink, checking each of them for any hints that Yuuri might have been there. He’s the only one left in Ice Castle now, and all around him the evacuation announcement is blaring, in English and in Japanese:

_There is an anticipated earthquake and tsunami in Hasetsu tonight. Everyone near the coast must evacuate farther inland or to higher ground._

“Yuuri!” Viktor screams, even as Yuuri’s body protests his every move with stabs of pain in his sides. “Yuuri, where are you?”

**_He noticed me! Yuuri startles as Viktor turns towards him, a placid smile on his face. It’s the smile he gives to the press and to fans. Yuuri can feel his heart sinking into his shoes._ **

**_That’s not a smile you’d give to someone you’ve been trading places with…_ **

**_“Commemorative photo?” Viktor asks, and Yuuri Katsuki’s heart shatters into pieces._ **

“Yuuri!” Viktor shouts as he finally bursts back into the lobby, his mind still reeling from Yuuri’s memories. _How could I have known back then? How could I have known you’d already gotten to know me, that we’d been switching bodies? And still_ —

**_The burning of alcohol courses through Yuuri’s body. He’s not sure how many bottles he’s had, and everything is a dizzy, euphoric blur._ **

**_“When the season’s over, you could come to Hasetsu! My family runs a hot springs resort there and we’d be happy to have you!” Yuuri slurs as he grinds against Viktor’s body, half-clothed with a tie around his neck. “If I win this dance-off, you’ll have to be my coach, okay? Please? Be my coach, Viktor!”_ **

“Yuuri!” Viktor’s voice is growing hoarse as he runs out to the front steps of the rink. The shadows around him are lengthening. “Yuuri, you’re here, aren’t you?”

* * *

Yuuri startles when he hears his name echoing in the wind. He clambers back to his feet, his knees still unsure, and looks around. The sky is starting to darken from golds into pinks and purples as the sun slips closer and closer to the mountains in the west.

“Viktor?” he calls back, running towards the rink. “Viktor, where are you?”

* * *

**_Viktor, where are you?_ **

Viktor looks around him wildly for the source of the echo. “Yuuri!” he shouts in return, running towards the steps.

There’s a sudden brush of air, a sudden skip in his heart, and Viktor _knows_.

* * *

There’s a sudden brush of air, a sudden skip in his heart, and Yuuri _knows_.

He turns back to the space of empty air before the steps, and reaches out. “Viktor, are you…”

* * *

“There?” whispers Viktor, as he reaches out into the space of empty air before the rink doors.

Nothing.

The pinks darken into purples, and the last faint rays of golden sun disappear behind the mountains.

* * *

Yuuri looks towards the seascape. In the gathering twilight everything is liminal, unreal. For a brief moment the ruins become proud buildings again, and then he blinks and they’re back to ruins once more.

Slowly, he turns his head, and his breath catches when he sees the tall, slender form of Viktor Nikiforov standing in front of him.

“ _Viktor_ ,” he breathes, and Viktor opens his arms, and Yuuri runs into them, his vision blurred by his tears as he holds on tight to the very real, _very_ familiar body of his idol and… whatever it is they are now. He feels Viktor’s arms enclosing around him, reassuring and secure, and he can’t help but sob into the crook of Viktor’s shoulder. “Viktor, it’s you, it’s really you!”

“Yeah,” says Viktor, his breath a gentle murmur at Yuuri’s ear. “It’s me. I came to see you. I’m sorry it took so long for me to find you.”

“But you… you came when I was…”

“I knew a part of you was still in me, and I tried to skate your last routine in your skates to bring it out.”

“I was skating _your_ routine.” Yuuri pushes Viktor back briefly, his eyes wide as he remembers how he had woken up. “And why would you do something so _stupid_? You know my skates are small for you! You got yourself hurt!”

Viktor can’t help but laugh at that. That’s the Yuuri he remembers, fretting and concerned and so terribly, terribly _cute_.

But Yuuri isn’t done admonishing him. “Also, what’s with the fixation with my butt? Phichit saw you groping it, you know.”

“I couldn’t help it! It was just once, or twice…” _Or every time_ …

Yuuri clearly doesn’t buy it. “Pervert,” he says, but there’s a softness in his voice, like he’s indulging a loved one. Viktor feels his heart flutter at the thought.

“For the record, your ass is perfect,” he says, and Yuuri blushes bright red. “Everyone at the GPF banquet last year agrees with me, you know.” He pauses. “And I’m sorry I didn’t recognise you at first in Sochi. I hadn’t started switching with you until after the Worlds this year, so it took me an embarrassingly long time to realise you’d been gone since then.”

Yuuri smiles. It seems almost impossible to be angry at Viktor, no matter what frustrating things he does. “You need to buy real food once in a while, and hug Makkachin more.”

“I’m proud of you for landing the quad sal,” replies Viktor. “And for trying the quad flip.”

“I had to do it; it was part of your programme.” Yuuri pauses, his brows furrowing as he suddenly remembers something. “Speaking of which, was your free skate this year…”

“Dedicated to you?” asks Viktor, and the most beautiful smile spreads across his face. “Yes.”

Yuuri kisses him.

He’s not sure what possesses him to do it. Viktor’s lips are so soft beneath his, and though the Russian briefly stiffens in surprise at the first contact, he quickly melts soon after, his arms coming back to wrap around Yuuri. Yuuri’s heart _sings_.

They pull away after what could have been minutes, or hours, or days. Viktor’s expression looks slightly winded, and a blush is crawling quickly up Yuuri’s cheeks as he rubs at the nape of his neck.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Don’t be,” says Viktor, and presses a softer, quicker kiss to Yuuri’s lips. Yuuri sighs.

“So there’s an earthquake coming,” he says after Viktor pulls away.

“You still have an hour or so before it hits,” replies Viktor quietly, turning towards the ocean. “But it’s the tsunami I’d be more worried about.”

“What about the others? My family? Yuuko and Takeshi? Minako-sensei?”

“I told them to evacuate,” says Viktor. “Hopefully they’ll be out of harm’s way by now.”

“Good.” Yuuri smiles at him. “Thank you, Viktor.”

“No, it was all you,” replies Viktor.

Yuuri nods, looking out at the ocean as well. The twilight is quickly bleeding into night; the last vestiges of gold are fading behind the mountains. This liminal moment is almost up.

“Yuuri,” says Viktor suddenly, and Yuuri turns to find him with a pen in his hand. “Just in case we wake up and can’t remember what we’re doing here, or who we were to each other,” he says, as he writes something in Yuuri’s hand. He then takes it, and kisses Yuuri’s ring finger, a smile on his face. “Please stay close to me.”

“I will,” agrees Yuuri, as he takes the pen and Viktor’s hand. Viktor feels the tip of the pen drag across his hand, and then suddenly the last hint of gold in the sky disappears, and Yuuri is gone.

The pen drops to the concrete, and Viktor is left with a line on his hand.

* * *

Yuuri calls his parents as he runs from the Ice Castle.

His mother picks up on the first ring. “Yuuri?” she asks, her voice concerned. “We heard the emergency broadcast. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” says Yuuri, as he arrives at the steps leading up to the mountain on which Hasetsu Castle stands. “Why are we speaking in English?”

His mother chuckles. “I thought you had lost your Japanese in America.”

Yuuri frowns. He doesn’t remember saying that. “Well,” he says in Japanese, “it’s back.” And before she can comment on that, he adds, “What about you? Are you and dad and Mari okay?”

“We’re heading out of town with Minako-senpai,” replies his mother.

“What about Yuuko and Takeshi?” The steps seem to go on forever, and he’s already feeling winded. But he knows he can’t stop running, not now. He takes a deep breath and presses on. “Are they getting out, too?”

“They’re right behind us, I think,” says Hiroko. “You sound winded, dear. Is everything —”

“Call me when it’s over!” exclaims Yuuri, and hangs up so he can dial Yuuko’s number. The scent of cherry blossoms is heavy in the air, and a cold breeze is blowing. He shivers. Viktor had taken off his coat and forgotten to put it back on.

But then again, he’d rather be cold than dead.

Yuuko picks up after a couple of rings. “Yuuri-kun! Where are you?” she demands.

“I’m heading up to the castle!” Yuuri shouts, as he continues to mount the steps leading up the side of the mountain.

“It’s not safe there from the earthquake!” Yuuko retorts, and sure enough, when Yuuri looks up, Hasetsu Castle looms over him almost forebodingly.

“But it’s the highest ground I can find near Ice Castle,” says Yuuri.

“We’re coming to get you,” declares Yuuko.

“No, you’re not,” snaps Yuuri. “Get out of there. Save yourself.”

He hangs up, noticing suddenly that the world around him feels eerily still.

Then there’s a sudden shrieking alarm from his phone, and the ground below his feet begins to shake.

* * *

The bright flashes of camera bulbs are irritating on a good day, and positively blinding on a bad. Today, they’re veering more towards the bad. Viktor lets the reporters’ voices wash over him. They’re questioning Otabek Altin, anyway, so it’s not like he needs to listen too closely.

“Mr Nikiforov, what are your plans for the next season?” asks a reporter suddenly.

Viktor blinks, and then looks down, unwilling to tell the press that he’s really not sure what to do next. Five World Championships, five Grand Prix, too many European championships to count — isn’t that enough?

“Mr Nikiforov?” the reporter asks again, but at that moment, the nearest screen showing the press conference broadcast is suddenly muted with a warning box appearing just below the faces of the champions. An alarm begins to ring.

Suddenly, the cameras are switched towards one of the announcers — Morooka, Viktor remembers, the rather bombastic one — who begins to read something in Japanese with the palest, most horrified expression on his face.

“What’s going on?” Viktor whispers to Christophe. Christophe gestures to his phone. Viktor pulls his out and reads the screen.

_An Emergency Earthquake Warning has been issued. Watch out for strong quakes in the following prefectures: Nagasaki, Saga, and Fukuoka._

Morooka continues to give the announcement, as Viktor searches up the news on his phone. Apparently at 8:30PM there had been a 7.6 magnitude earthquake off the coast of the town of Hasetsu. A tsunami warning has also been issued to the people in the affected prefectures.

The floor trembles, just slightly. Viktor’s heart pounds a little faster, and his stomach churns. He knows he’s not in any real danger here in Tokyo, far away from wherever the earthquake is taking place. So why does he feel like part of him is?

* * *

Yuuri knows the first thing he has to do if he’s caught outside during an earthquake is to find open space. The problem is, there’s very little open space on this hill, the pavement is cracking below his feet, and the trees look like they’re about to topple on him at any minute.

Yuuri braces himself against the stone wall at the side of the pathway up to the castle. His glasses slip, and he takes them off and puts them away. The world blurs and shakes as he continues running up, towards the lookout point where he knows there’s a spot of open ground. There a rumbling noise from somewhere else on the hill, and he rushes up the last few metres to the lookout point just in time to see Hasetsu Castle swaying ominously in the dark.

He loses his balance at the next lurch, just barely catching himself before another tremor throws him to the ground. His knees and palms flare with pain and he hisses, sitting up to assess the damage. However, a sudden loud creak cause him to pause and turn around, startled.

With the next lurch, the wooden shelter covering part of the lookout point suddenly buckles, and Yuuri scrambles towards the railing to avoid the falling planks. He grabs onto the cold metal and struggles to his feet, holding onto the railing as the ground shakes again beneath him.

Out here, he watches as the lights in Hasetsu flicker and flash. Absently, he raises his hand to check the injuries on his palm, and notices something else instead.

**_I love you._ **

_Who wrote that_? Yuuri wonders absently, staring at the three words. He knows someone did, and he knows he loves them, too, but he can’t quite remember who they are right now, or why they had felt possessed to write such words to Yuuri. He knows they’re familiar to him, somehow. But _who_? And why does it feel like, even though he knows he’s pretty damn close to the epicentre of an earthquake, that part of him is completely at peace?

Cherry blossom petals fall wildly around him as the trees in the lookout point creak and sway. In the distance, Yuuri can dimly make out the bridge spanning the harbour rocking, with the cars left parked on it sliding and crashing into one another.

And then, as one, all the lights in Hasetsu go out.

* * *

_This is an emergency tsunami warning. NHK is broadcasting this warning in English, Chinese, Korean, and Portuguese._

Viktor can’t tear his gaze away from the screen as he stands in the ballroom with the rest of the figure skating community, watching the warning being broadcast.

_The meteorological agency is warning that tsunami are expected in the following areas: the coast of Saga Prefecture._

Viktor is only dimly aware of someone — Sara Crispino, maybe? — pulling out her phone and calling someone. His own heart is pounding furiously inside his chest, threatening to burst. There’s something he’s missing, some _one_ he’s missing, and he can’t quite put his finger on it, can’t quite name who they are.

“What’s wrong?” Mila’s voice is distant, faint. The music of the banquet, and all the other noises coming from the people surrounding him, come to him like he’s listening to them from underwater. All he can hear are the beats of his heart and the broadcast:

_The waves can be up to 3 metres high in some of the areas mentioned. Everyone near the coast must evacuate to higher ground._

“He’s not picking up.” Sara’s voice, though distant, sounds like it’s on the verge of tears.

“Maybe he turned off his phone. You know he does that sometimes,” Christophe’s voice resounds.

Viktor’s fists clench. _Who is this person? Who am I forgetting_?

* * *

On a hill, just below an old ruined castle, a smartphone with a blue case covered in poodles flashes with a notification about a missed call.

The waves come, and come, and come.

They swallow the old bridge spanning the harbour and seep through the streets, flooding the houses and shops still left standing and sweeping away cars. They fill up the rooms of an old ryokan, until the photograph of a boy and his dog is swirling in the muddy current, and the boy’s posters of Viktor Nikiforov are floating off the walls.

They drag along the debris from an old ice rink through the streets of the empty town, along with boats and cars and parts of other collapsed buildings.

The waves come and come, and the sirens still ring, but beyond that, Hasetsu is as quiet as the grave.


	7. i think about you (but i don't say it anymore)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, episode 12 got me to completely rewrite this chapter. Hope you like it!

**_Viktor._ **

**_Viktor, where are you?_ **

**_You asked me to stay close to you, but I can’t do that if you can’t remember me._ **

**_Viktor, please don’t go; I’m afraid of losing you…_ **

“Viktor’s doing fine, Yuri, the doctors say he’s not injured at all. Not even a sprain. He’ll be fit for Russian Nationals at the end of the month, I’m sure.”

“That’s not the point. They said they found him unconscious outside the rink after a fall.”

Viktor Nikiforov briefly considers letting the two people in the room — Christophe Giacometti and Yuri Plisetsky, by the sound of it — know that he can hear what they are saying, but he doesn’t. Instead he lies there with his eyes closed, his mind trying to regain some sense of where he is.

Alive, for one. Lying down on a bed somewhere. Yuri and Christophe are nearby. But there’s something missing, and the worst part is he doesn’t know who or what it is.

“The doctors say he’s fine, though. You should just let him rest. Honestly, he’s actually kinda cute like this.”

“You’re disgusting,” grinds out Yuri. There’s a rustle of some sort of wrapper. “Here. I got it at the stall down the street.”

There’s a pause. “This is delicious.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Yuri takes a seat by the bed. “I knew this trip was a crazy thing to do. I hate being right.”

“You’re just sore from all the physical labour that the actual act of rebuilding entails.”

“Hey! It was Viktor’s dumb idea! No time to gloat over winning the gold at the GPF six times in a row. _No_ , it’s ‘ _let’s go see how Katsudon is holding up_ ’, ‘ _let’s go help Katsudon rebuild his town_ ’, ‘ _I wonder if Katsudon will be happy to see us_ ’, like he’s _smitten_ with the guy or something!”

“You’re just _now_ getting that he’s in love?” Christophe chuckles. “He’s like a different person these days. The rest of us saw it a mile off.”

“Yeah, and it’s _disgusting_. Viktor Nikiforov is dead.”

“Out with the old, in with the new,” says Christophe, his voice sing-song. “Just accept it, Yuri. Yuuri Katsuki’s story this year has really changed him. We’re never really going to know _how_ or _why_ , but it did.”

Viktor is dimly aware of a tear rolling down his cheek at the mention of Yuuri’s name.

“Would you look at that, Chris. You made him cry in his sleep, you _monster_.”

Christophe chuckles. “Viktor, maybe you shouldn’t be eavesdropping.”

Viktor groans, keeping his eyes closed. “Yuri, you _do_ care,” he mumbles, and the bed dips sharply as Yuri suddenly clambers onto it.

“Wake up, old man!” he shouts right into Viktor’s ear, as if to compensate for said moment of caring.

Viktor yelps as he opens his eyes.

He immediately regrets this action, because the lights in the room are far too bright. He tries to sit up at first, but then someone presses him back down. As his eyes adjust to the brightness, he realises he’s in a hospital room.

Yuri appears in his vision, looking about as crabby as Viktor expects him to look. “I’m going to _kill_ you, you complete imbecile!” Yuri snaps. “I _told_ you to keep your phone on you! Imagine my surprise when that Minako lady called me and said the ice rink people were taking you to the hospital because you’d had a fall and then stumbled outside like you’d been concussed!”

“Am I?” Viktor asks.

Yuri glowers. “Surprisingly, no,” he says. “In fact, you haven’t sprained or broken anything. Which I think is nothing short of a fuckin’ _miracle_.”

“Wouldn’t want to miss Worlds, would we?” adds Christophe’s voice from next to him. Viktor turns his head, and the Swiss man waves at him.

“You’d be disappointed at winning the gold simply because I got concussed,” Viktor points out.

“Point,” concedes Christophe. “The doctors say you’re free to go as soon as you feel ready.”

Viktor closes his eyes. His body still aches from the fall, but at least he can rest better knowing there hadn’t been any severe damage to it. Though everything still feels much worse than it really is, so maybe he’ll lie here a little longer.

“Where are we again?” he asks.

Yuri groans that now-familiar ‘bad clams’ groan. “We’re in Japan, stupid,” he says.

“Hasetsu,” adds Christophe. “You came here to find Yuuri Katsuki.”

The name tugs at him, but Viktor isn’t entirely sure _why_ …

“Maybe I should get the doctor to come back and check you again. You might have brain damage after all,” Yuri says, and Viktor shakes his head.

“No, no. I’m fine,” he says, and slowly clambers into a sitting position.

Christophe’s hand is at his arm immediately, concern in his expression. “Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks.

Viktor moves his arm out of Christophe’s grasp, and stubbornly gets to his feet. His head spins a little, and he grabs the handle on the hospital bed to steady himself.

“I’m hungry,” he declares, before Christophe or Yuri can push him back onto the bed. “Let’s go eat katsudon.”

* * *

Viktor is keenly aware of the odd glances being exchanged between Yuri and Christophe at dinner.

He ignores them anyway, focusing more on the delicious breaded pork cutlet in the bowl in front of him. They bring to him distant, fond memories of warmth and laughter. He’s not sure why, but he savours it anyway.

When he sets down his empty bowl and looks around, he suddenly catches a glimpse of a familiar poster on the wall.

It’s Yuuri Katsuki, arms outstretched towards heaven, Hasetsu Castle sparkling in the background. Viktor feels his heart skip a beat at the sight, though once again he’s not quite sure why.

Minako Okukawa comes out to greet them after the meal, this time with a bottle of sake. Viktor turns down a cup, though, because his head is still throbbing slightly. So Minako pours herself and Christophe a cup, and they drink to each other’s health.

“I must say, we’re all very thankful for your visit here,” Minako says once she sets her cup down. “It’s a very touching gesture of solidarity to be with Yuuri during the rebuilding of his hometown.”

Viktor blinks. That sounds odd, for some reason, and yet no one else is treating it as anything but the truth. “How is he doing?” he asks, his voice hesitant.

Minako sighs. “He could be worse,” she says. “Hiroko and Mari say he doesn’t sleep much, if at all.”

“When will he be coming back?” asks Yuri. “I still need to kick his ass on the ice.”

“Hopefully in time for next season.” Minako shrugs. “But who knows? The rebuilding is still going on, and Yuuri refuses to leave until things are back to the way they were again. He’s stubborn like that.”

“He could train here, couldn’t he?” wonders Viktor.

“He’d need a coach here, and there aren’t any coaches in this entire prefecture that would be of any use to him,” says Minako. “That’s why he went to Detroit in the first place.”

Viktor nods, as Christophe finishes his cup of sake and pours himself another. _Yuuri Katsuki_. The last clear thing he remembers about the man is a drunken dance at the Grand Prix Final banquet, and a slurred promise whose words he cannot quite recall.

Viktor can’t sleep that night. He tosses and turns, too keenly aware of Christophe’s snores in the bed next to him, and Yuri mumbling something in Russian in the other bed across the room. Finally, he clambers out of bed and heads to the window, looking out at the still-recovering town below.

He looks up the news on the April earthquake and tsunami. There had been widespread damage, but the casualties had been surprisingly low (less than fifty people were killed or injured, in fact) due to a very early and fortuitous evacuation broadcast. More notable was the miraculous rescue of Japanese figure skating legend Yuuri Katsuki, who had somehow survived the heart of the earthquake and the subsequent tsunami while at the top of the hill below Hasetsu Castle. After making a full recovery, Yuuri had then taken the next season off to help his town rebuild, and the numerous donations from his fans worldwide had sped up the recovery of the town much faster than originally anticipated.

Still, as Viktor walks through the quiet streets of Hasetsu on his way to the newly-reopened Katsuki Yuuri Skating Rink, he notices that there are still many buildings that are little more than just piles of rubble. Hasetsu still has a long way to go before it can be called fully restored, but at least it’s well on the way there.

The doors of the rink are unlocked. The lobby is covered in pictures of Yuuri at his competitions, and there’s even a glass case displaying slightly water-logged trophies just inside the front doors. At the counter, Yuuko Nishigori is filling out paperwork, with Takeshi Nishigori sweeping the floor of the lobby. Their daughters are sprawled out on one of the benches by the trophy case, oohing and aahing over something on their phones.

The one in purple looks up when Viktor enters. “Hey, it’s Viktor Nikiforov!” she exclaims.

Viktor smiles and waves. The triplets immediately swarm him, snapping pictures of him and demanding autographs.

“Hey, hey!” scolds Takeshi. “Let the man breathe!”

“Sorry, our girls can get quite enthusiastic!” adds Yuuko, as the triplets run off with triumphant grins on their faces. Yuuko’s expression softens once the girls are out of earshot. “Are you looking for some ice time, Mr Nikiforov?”

Viktor nods. “I couldn’t sleep,” he admits, “so I thought I’d come by and skate it off.”

Yuuko raises an eyebrow. “We heard you were in the hospital earlier,” she says. “Are you sure you’re well enough to skate?”

Viktor laughs. “Yeah, everything's fine!” He reaches for his wallet. “How much for a couple of hours?”

“Oh, no need!” says Takeshi with a strange twinkle in his eyes. “Yuuri Katsuki’s in there; you just have to ask if you can share the ice.”

Beyond the doors leading to the rink, Viktor can hear the sliding of skates against ice. He nods his thanks to the Nishigoris (who are grinning from ear to ear for some strange reason) and heads through the doors.

At first, the brightness of the rink blinds him a little, but once his eyes adjust, his breath is taken away.

Yuuri is on the ice, clad in his JSF uniform with gloves on his hands and his beat-up skates on his feet. His face is rounder than in the posters, but his shape is still fairly lean. _Probably from months of hard work_ , Viktor realises with a jolt. He’s moving through the choreography of a programme, his body moving as one with the music in his head.

Viktor recognises the piece almost as if he’s skating it himself. He watches, riveted with wonder, as Yuuri lands his quadruple Salchow and moves into a beautiful step sequence, followed by a triple Axel and a triple flip. Though the song isn’t playing anywhere at all, Viktor swears he can hear the duet of the piano and the violin just by watching Yuuri’s movements.

As Yuuri glides effortlessly across the ice, arms outstretched like he’s flying, Viktor reaches up and touches his face, and is surprised to find his fingertips coming away wet. Tears are rolling down his cheeks, and for some reason he can’t stop them. But he also can’t look away. Not from Yuuri, ever again.

Yuuri lands his next combination. Viktor’s heart rises to his throat as Yuuri then plunges into a dizzying and sublime step sequence, gaining more momentum with each turn, each twirl. He’s mounting towards one more quad, Viktor knows. The original choreography had a quad Salchow at the very end as a shout-out to Yuuri, but Yuuri is taking off on his backwards inside edge —

It’s a quad flip. And Yuuri _nails_ it.

In the moment when Yuuri lands the flip, everything comes crashing back to Viktor in an inexorable wave of memories.

**_“Be my coach, Viktor!” Yuuri’s eyes shine up at him, and Viktor is pretty sure in this moment he has never seen anything more beautiful in his life..._ **

**_Viktor is standing in front of the mirror in an unfamiliar room, examining his suddenly shorter and stockier body. He tugs at his much-shorter black hair, before turning in the mirror and grabbing his ass with a satisfied grin..._ **

**_“What’s up with you lately?” Yuri Plisetsky demands, as Viktor smiles at the new selfies on his phone that he definitely didn’t take, and the report about how Makkachin had chased a squirrel yesterday…_ **

**_Viktor looks at the Japanese words scrawled on his cheek and the note stuck to his mirror, his smile growing wider and wider as his heart flutters like it’s about to take flight…_ **

**_“I’m so sorry; I thought you knew,” Christophe’s voice is too gentle, too consoling, as Viktor cries into his shoulder, as a series of texts vanish from his phone…_ **

**_Viktor’s feet burn and ache in protest as he launches into that quad flip in a set of beat-up skates..._ **

Viktor finds himself reeling, tears falling harder from his eyes as he remembers and remembers and _remembers_. It’s as if a part of him has been reawakened, and now everything suddenly seems to fall into perfect clarity.

**_Yuuri._ **

**_Yuuri, I’ve found you._ **

**_I’m by your side now, and I won’t ever leave you again._ **

**_Yuuri, I’m coming for you!_ **

As Yuuri eases into his final combination spin, Viktor feels as if his heart’s going to burst. Finally, he can bear it no longer, and as Yuuri raises his arms in his final pose, Viktor _runs_.

He’s never donned his skates and gotten out to the ice so fast before in his life, but there he is, suddenly at centre ice where Yuuri is standing, his heart pounding furiously in his chest.

“ _Yuuri_ ,” he breathes, like a prayer.

“Viktor,” whispers Yuuri, his beautiful brown eyes wide in bemusement. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.” Oh, Viktor _yearns_ to reach out and touch Yuuri, as if to make sure the man won’t disappear on him again, but he refrains. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting for so long.”

Yuuri looks down at that, his expression unreadable. Viktor’s pounding heart stutters a little.

After a long moment, Yuuri speaks up again. “I thought it was all a dream,” he murmurs, and Viktor is startled to find tears running down the Japanese man’s cheeks, shining brightly in the fluorescent lighting of the rink.

“I’m here now,” he replies, extending a hand. Yuuri’s breath hitches at that. For a long moment, the rink is silent before Yuuri wipes away his tears and looks up at Viktor with shining eyes.

“I remember you,” he says, and places his hand in Viktor’s.

The dance comes to them as naturally as breathing, as if their bodies speak the same language. They glide together on the ice, side-by-side, hand-in-hand, and at one point Viktor’s vision blurs again with tears that he doesn’t bother wiping away. He is sending out a plea, and miraculously, Yuuri is giving him the answer.

Or perhaps Yuuri has always been the answer.

They skate together to the same unknown-and-yet-familiar music, two crimson threads finally weaving together into one. Yuuri traces Viktor’s cheek with all the familiarity of a lover, a feather-light touch that causes Viktor’s heart to sing. Even though he knows in this new chance together this is just their first reunion, it feels more as if he has been reuniting with Yuuri in thousands of other lifetimes, thousands of other chances.

As they circle around one another without taking their eyes off each other, Viktor takes Yuuri’s hand and kisses his ring finger.

“I remember you, too,” he says, and Yuuri’s smile is brighter than all of the stars in the sky.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for sticking with me through this rollercoaster of a fic! Please check out _Kimi no Na wa_ if/when you can! It's a great film. 
> 
> I also owe portions of whatever's left of my soul to yuurisviktor and carnationbb @tumblr for beta reading this. And also to fishydwarrows, who created gorgeous artwork which you can find [here](http://fishfingersandscarves.tumblr.com/post/154857836625/a-great-desire-to-love-for-some-strange).
> 
> Come flail with me on [tumblr](http://omgkatsudonplease.tumblr.com/)!


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